Infectious
by Glitchkin
Summary: "It itches, it seethes, it festers and breathes..." Welcome to the 38th Annual Hunger Games. *CLOSED*
1. Prologue

**_Infectious_**

**_The Thirty-Eighth Hunger Games_**

* * *

Shapes wrought by pain

Each hollow engraved with a name

My name, yours?

All of us, we stand

But lifeless, slumped over inside coffins.

The grave holds the answer

Six feet down

And still wrecked with hollow sobs.

* * *

**The Thirty-Seventh Games**

**Celestin Aiba, District 9**

He found it impossible. Breathing now, with the dirt filling his nose as he looked up at the clouded sky of the arena. So close to sunset. So close to the end. He could have won. He knew it. But now, now he was trapped.

The hole began to file off. He was sliding still, as impossible as it seemed, body twisting and bending and stretching to fit the cracks. Skull was being compressed. He was sure blood was leaking from his mouth. Being buried alive...being crushed alive...should have been impossible. But the laughter told him no, it wasn't. And he couldn't even feel his mouth enough to move it. Knowing his fate, it had probably been deformed as well.

His neck...it started with a tug. But now, he was sure, stretched out like that of those yellow animals seen in the history books. Now his whole body...eyes popping from sockets. Being squished, divided, dragged down and down and down...the depths of blackness. Cracks, running red with blood through the exit of a brick wall.

The stuff of nightmares.

For now he was stuck. But for the way his body stretched, he might as well be dead.

* * *

**The Capitol**

**Body Collector/Medical Researcher, Jagannatha Cerdic**

It had been unfeasible to collect all the bodies, but Jagannatha had to admit, they were masterpieces. His eyes lingered on one in particular. A stretched out, lifeless and twisted form who had once been the District 9 male tribute. The indentations of his crushed eye sockets and jumbled mass the possibly had resembled a neck and shoulders were inspiring. Beyond distorted, like a fantasy nightmare. It was perfect.

The head gamemaker for these games had warned him about taking care of the corpses. They had to be returned to the districts, he said. But Jagannatha figured the condition wasn't a big deal. And afterward, he could have the bodies back anyway. He ran his fingers over the burnt flesh of a girl- District 2?- feeling every bump of the charred black skin, bones protruding at odd angles. The thought that these creatures- these mutations- had once been alive was absolutely astounding. How much did it take the human body to break? Strenuous force seemed to work, of course, but these corpses were still in one piece. Dismemberment...that was another category entirely.

Still, he figured, it was better this way. Reanimation wouldn't be too hard with these conditions. And these conditions were perfect for them. For building the mutts. Yes, it was absolutely wonderful. And this arena, from what the gamemaker had provided him...would be insane. Literally.

* * *

_Okay, it's been a long time since I've tried my hand at this SYOT business, possibly because it is so time consuming, and I have a lot of schoolwork. (Don't expect frequent updates, because I couldn't possibly do it.) However, I am re-entering the arena (haha) and would appreciate it if you could all take some time to submit. Form is on my profile, and by PM only. No reservations._


	2. District One Reapings

Ah, okay, figured I should finally start on this thing. Still need tributes, so send 'em in, people! Sorry for the length (or, rather, lack thereof). I've never been particularly good at working long chapters. Partly because by nature I am a poet, not a story writer. Anyway. Enjoy.

Thanks to ASimpleMind94 for Blush, and to Mon Devou for Alexander (didn't have any family for you, so I tried to improvise).

Oh, and also- reviews would be rather lovely. I'm not crazy like some people are about them, but I find it nice when it seems as though people actually read my writing. You can even PM me if you'd rather. Thanks.

* * *

**District 1: Symbol of Your Own Device**

* * *

_**Blush DeMontford, 17, District 1 Female**_

I walk on the border between turbulence and order. It is a chaotic, endless mess that seems to tear away my inner skin...but not my outer. Never my outer. No, the façade will not leave. And it threatens me, but I've gotten used to it. It is my life, after all. And like the lives of others, there are constants.

Half-empty bed.

Money on the nightstand.

A different room.

A different house.

A different man.

But there is always the same dress, the same mask, the same amount of pay, and the secrets each man unwittingly gives to me in the heat of the moment. Some are married, some have children. Some are successful to the outer world but failures to their own life. Some are insane. Some are rebels while others are pledged entirely to the Capitol. There were even a couple Peacekeepers.

Secrets are beautiful. Like money, but more valuable. So, so much more valuable. Manipulation, blackmail...ensured by secrets. And it's secrets that enable me power to gain what I am in desperation of.

Protection, perhaps even security. But only for a night. It's fleeting, gone with the echo of his footsteps each morning. And the silence is eternal. And the girl in the red lingerie, the whore who earns secrets just as well as money, she is always there. Every scene. Alone. Waiting for her next moment.

A girl named Blush.

A girl with no assets in a wolf-dog luxury district.

A prostitute.

A wretched figure.

Me.

* * *

The girl in the mirror is beautiful. Mysterious and seductive. Her long, glossy hair and raging, ice blue eyes, features high and sharp like nobility of the olden days in the history books. The few clothes she wears are in perfect condition. They were meant only for provocation, seduction, sex-appeal. Never meant to be casual or even romantic. She is always dressed for a show, because there is always someone willing to pay.

This girl is beautiful at first glance, but looking a little more closely, there's something off. A little too much makeup. Overgrown, chipped nails. Splitting lip. You can tell she's not as wealthy as she seems, as she _pretends to be._ She's nothing like what the rest of them are, and that's what makes her beautiful.

I wouldn't say I envy the other girls in this district. Rather, I'd say I detest them. Pain and suffering...tears, blood and sweat...all I have endured through these years. What I've done to get here. What I've done to even manage to look like them. Like other girls. Ironic, I suppose.

What is irony, one might ask. My response? This whole district is irony. The frontrunners, the wealthy and revered, so respected. The backbone, however; survivors, workers, benefiters, people providing for themselves or their family...they have nothing. Many of these fools, men and women who have never lifted a finger to support themselves, are considered the representation of District One. Yet, they seem to question why the other districts never take them seriously.

Not that that matters, anyway. Not anymore. I have my ways, they have theirs. District One citizens are just bags of skin filled with air, blood and petty ignorance. And secrets. Always secrets.

My father sits in the other room of our small, cramped abode, snoring loudly. He seems oblivious to everything now, ever since my mother's death three years ago. He isn't aware of what his daughter is doing, and he most likely would be blasé even if he did. No, all he does now is sleep, eat, and drink. My only family isn't even family now. But still, I find myself standing, walking to him and drawing the blanket over his weak shoulders, stooped low as always. He used to be different. But thinking of the past won't get me anywhere.

The egg hits the window the same time as every other morning. Even after walking home in the dawning hours to ensure they didn't see me. When I'm out there, they watch. When I'm in here...I'm allowed to be regretful for a few moments. I'm allowed to be someone other than the flashy showgirl with a penchant for rich men. But I'm still detatched...just as uninterested here as in every other situation. It would surprise another to look in my eyes the way I do. They are empty. Lifeless, soulless, emotionless...bored.

I slam open the door, and watch the mini-fools go running amuck across the yard, before regrouping and fleeing down the streets.

"The whore came out! The whore came out!" They scream.

I stare, apathetic.

* * *

Bliss is standing near the archway of the gate before the club when I walk past. She gives a half-wave, and then a come-hither motion. She is balancing her son against her chest. It is rare for us to see each other like this. Out of costume, so to speak. Why is it that even as people we gravitate toward the clubs to meet? It seems like the clubbing district is home. There is nothing else for either of us.

"Look what the cat dragged in." Bliss scoffs. "Reaping's only a few hours away, sweetie."

"I know." I reply. "I plan to make an impression."

"But of course," she purrs, leaning black against the brick. "After all, there's nothing us girls do better...according to Silk that is."

"And of course, what Silk says is truth." I mutter. "He's so loose-lipped it's a wonder he hasn't been stabbed yet. Ah, well, only awhile before it happens. Some rich businessman for sure."

"Can't be too sure." She says. "Maybe one of us'll do him in."

"That would be ironic." I say.

"More ironic than the rest of this?" She asks, before laughing, patting the baby's back to dull the awkward movement. "Honey, ain't nothing more ironic than this district."

"Funny," I say, eyebrows furrowing. "That's what I always say."

"You picked up the intellect from me." Bliss retorts. "I always knew you had it somewhere in there."

"More like you picked it up from me." This type of banter...it doesn't happen very often. But Bliss was kind, and there, and now she's the closest thing I have to a friend. A pseudo-older sister perhaps.

She gives me a once over. "What's your impression? The old lingerie under the jacket routine?"

"Anything else wouldn't have worked." I say. "Especially if I do get reaped."

"Doesn't matter." She says. "Someone would volunteer, like always."

"For the whore girl?" I ask, before turning around. "Doubtful."

* * *

_**Alexander Lepou, 18, District 1 Male**_

I am sitting outside, watching the rays of dawn break through the horizon to the darkness of the District One streets, empty save for a few people getting ready to set stage for the reaping. A spot of light lingers on my forehead, the first of the day, and I'm sure it's a sign. I take a long breath in, and for a moment, if feels as if all the air will leave me, nothing left behind in reality but an empty husk. Today is the day. Reaping day.

And I'm volunteering. I didn't get permission from the academy; they never had hope for me, didn't see the potential. But it's the last year. Who else has a sense of humor? Who else has my unparalleled skill with weapons (unless someone managed to break my record in the past day)? I may not be the strongest. I know they look for brutish force, violence, or a handsome face. I'm not the best off in any of those departments. But my chance is better. And my intuition is never wrong. This is my year. Mine. Mine.

"You do realize you've been talking to yourself out loud for the past ten minutes?" A voice sounds, and I look up from my position, unfolding my hands from behind my head.

"Etienne," I say. "Looking sharp."

"You'd better be joking," my brother mumbles, and I wiggle my eyebrows. The hag, no doubtedly, picked the atrocious blue-green suit that sits awkwardly on his too-tall frame.

"Does Mother want me to dress up too? I'd look quite dashing, I do believe. Ah, the beauty of pastels. On the contrary, dear, you look absolutely dreadful. To think if the girls were here-"

"Shut up already." Etienne groans. "She sent me out here to get you. I don't want to hear the Capitolian nonsense voice."

"Are you mocking my voice?" I feign insult.

"Of course not." He smirks. I grab his leg, pulling him down onto the grass, where he lands, rather ungracefully, in a patch of dirt. I crack up.

"Maybe now you'll be able to change out of that shitty wardrobe."

"Or maybe you'll have to change into one!" He retorts. "God, Mom'll be pissed."

"Since when isn't the hag pissed? I've never seen her smile once. God forbid the day I see her happy."

"When you become a victor." He says decisively.

"What?" I ask.

"She's smile when you become a victor. I bet you."

"What are we betting?" I ask. "Will you wear this suit again?"

"Hell no!" He snaps, shoving my hands away from him. "You're so weird."

"Says Mr. Pessimist." I retort.

A clang sounds from inside the upstairs window, along with a shrill shriek.

"Ding-dong, the witch is dead." I say. Another yell. "Well, almost."

"Wouldn't that be a relief?" He asks, and I can't discern whether that comment was supposed to be sarcastic or not.

"Boys? Where are you? Etienne, you had better not be getting that suit dirty! I swear on the life of the President-"

We stand hurriedly.

"The hag's gonna kill you." I say.

"It's your fault." He replies. "I'm innocent."

"I'm not?" I ask, widening my eyes and blinking rapidly.

"Never."

"Get in here now!" A voice yells.

I rush into the house after my brother, and slam the door behind me with a loud bang.

* * *

The square is a mess, people running amuck, to and from the steps of the Justice Building. I let out a sigh that my friend follows up with a comment about "being melodramatic". I pretty much ignore it. Nothing can ruin my mood today. Sure, I wasn't deemed the 'honor'. Sure I'm breaking all the rules- on Reaping Day, nonetheless. Sure my brother and the hag are going to bitch and my friends probably won't talk to me even when I am Victor, but...my mood will stay uplifted. It can't do anything otherwise.

"District One!" The escort chirps, walking on stage, her heels click-clacking against the marble steps. I can't remember her name- all I remember is her blue-tinged skin and those atrocious stiletto heels. Those wouldn't look good on anyone, especially not me. Well, then again, God only knows why I would ever wear heels. "Welcome, welcome. You know what time of year it is! Now, where shall we start? Ladies?" She walks over toward the girls' reaping ball.

"Blush DeMontford? Do we have a Blush DeMontford here?"

The crowd is shellshocked. Nobody steps forward, except- a girl, somewhere from the seventeens' section. She struts up to the stage, before turning to flash a smile at the crowd. Her eyes are cold, steeled even though a second glance leaves the impression of sadness, yet impervious to the jeers and shouts of "whore" being thrown out from the crowd. Slowly, she pulls the long trenchcoat she is wearing away, before flashing a stunning smile as she is left only in sleek red lingerie. The escort gasps.

"W-well," she tries to compose herself. "Boys next." Her overly-manicured hand reaches into the boys' reaping ball, and she reads, "Rouge Carlien?"

"I VOLUNTEER!" The shout seems to come from everywhere at once, and I realize it was me who said it after a few moments. Iridescent, the boy who was supposed to volunteer, and isn't nearly as girly as his name implies, stands there with his mouth open. I jog up to the steps, before glancing at the girl.

"What is your name?" The escort asks. "Name?"

"Alexander Lepou." I reply, winking at the girl, who stands there with her mouth agape. As the escort forces our hands together, I whisper into her ear.

"You'd be much prettier if you left your clothes _on." _

"And you'd be much better off if you hadn't volunteered." She replied. "But I think we can settle things."

"You and I both know that I'm more fabulous." I reply, earning a subtle tug of the lips from Blush.

"You wish, darling."

* * *

_"It is a man's own mind, not his enemy nor his foe, that lures him toward evil ways."_


	3. District Two Reapings

Ah, I'm back. I know you're all thinking 'finally!' Sorry, I've had a lot of schoolwork lately- big projects for National History day and my extended essay and a bunch of other stuff.

So before I start off the chapter, I have a little question for all my lovely readers; I am debating making a prequel to this story of the 37th games, the one featured in the first chapter. It would not involve any of the reaping/Capitol stuff, simply the games themselves. The reason I would be doing this is to give you all a picture of the gruesome deaths of each tribute, which would showcase the mutts for this arena and leave you with a foreshadowing of the set up of the arena itself. So, if you would, in a review or PM, simply leave a little 'yes' or 'no' at the top of your form about this idea.

Anyway, here we are with District 2! Enough rambling, Junhong. I know that's what you're all thinking. XD

Tributes today are courtesy of MadiHope24 (Jupiter Cass) and Infamouskal420 (Athena Slater). Thanks for the awesome tributes! As I'm sure you've all noticed, I'm still missing several, and I would appreciate it if you could ask anyone you know to check out submitting. It might encourage them if you add in that I'm not picky about reviews. XD

* * *

**District 2: A Conflict Before War**

* * *

**Athena Slater, 18, District 2 female**

I close my eyes for half a second, trying my best to maintain focus on the robotic dummy just out of my range. But the thoughts are running through my head, faster and faster, blinding me with their screams. I shake my head. This is not the time to _think._ This is the time to _attack. _I had made it to the end of today's allotment of dummies, and the final attack was racing toward me quickly, spear in hand. I steel my face, trying to redeem that ferocious gleam usually held in my eyes as I bow down, leaping out toward the dummy, with my hand fisted around the hilt of my near-sword-length knife. Anticipating my movements, the dummy swings to the right, an automated version of my own weapon appearing in it's hand. I don't know how District 2 even has the money for these types of training centers, but who cares? It's all about preparing for the thrill of the kill.

Losing points in training today doesn't matter; I've already been chosen for the honor of volunteering this year; but getting marks off would persuade my competitors to try and talk the trainers out of their decision. That can't happen- I am the perfect choice. My axe skills have set me directly behind the trainer on the watch list and my willpower has given me more strength than any weapon ever could. I'm positive I'm more motivated than any other tribute that will volunteer this year. Call me conceited, I don't care. I call myself prepared.

Returning my thoughts to the fight at hand, I jump forward and duck just as the blade of my enemy swings to hit the area my head would have been positioned at. I use a barrel roll, before shoving the point of my weapon through the dummy's back from behind. It dissipates into blocks, and I kick one of the little yellow squares away from me.

"Athena Slater. Your score for today is 9.3567. Deductions include lack of eye concentration and misjudged momentum. Thank you for participating."

Sighing, I pull myself to my feet again, before slinking over and slumping down on a cold metal bench just to the right of my training area. I reach for the towel sitting on the rack just behind my new seat, and hurriedly brush off my face. The water next to me is too appealing to pass up, and I soon find myself drinking nearly half the bottle.

I quickly stand up again, hauling the bag filled with my things over my shoulder. The trainer near the door sends me off with a nod, despite my having filled the slot as the volunteer for the year. No 'congratulations' or 'good work' or even 'good luck's are passed to me by anyone. I pull my bag onto my back fully, shove open the glass door, and walk out into the empty street.

Father should be proud. But me, I don't know what to feel.

* * *

I know I shouldn't be here. The dust from the mines is in my windpipe, threatening to suffocate me, but I've been in worse. I sit on the rocky ground, staring straight at the exit tunnel. And there he is. Styx.

He takes a minute, stopping, glancing at me oddly, before calling out my name and hastening his steps across the barren ground toward me. I pull myself to my feet shakily despite my usual grace, and wrap my arms around him tightly. He smells like dust and rock, but I don't care. I bury my face in his neck and breathe in deeply.

"I missed you."

"You too, baby sister." He replies, patting my head. "Walk with me?"

"Of course." I straighten myself up, and the two of us walk next to each other, feet falling into similar strides across the black ground. "How's Cass?" I ask him, and he chuckles.

"Good as she can be, I suppose. Raising a child is tough in these times. Despite how much we need it...when he gets older, I'm never going to let him volunteer."

I nod at this decision. "I wouldn't let him either." I pause. "He's tearing me apart, Styx. He's killing me, forcing me into this."

"You'll win." He says softly. "But for yourself. Not for that man."

"Never." I say, honestly. "Never for him. Not after what he did to you." I feel tears welling up in my eyes.

"Hey, hey, Athena." Styx says. "You'll be okay."

"They picked me, Styx. But I...I don't know if I can do it. I'm prepared, yes. I'm confident, yes, but...what if it happens? What if I never come back?"

"Don't say that." He turns to face me, grasping my shoulders. "Don't say that, Athena. You're the strongest person I know. You put up with that man everyday. If anyone can win, it's you."

"I just don't know anymore..." I confide. "I don't know what I'm doing. Why can't I just come live with you?"

He chuckles. "Because you made this decision. The weight of the district is on you now, kiddo." He pauses. "But if you choose otherwise...you've always got a home with us."

"I know." I say. "I know."

* * *

I return home steeled and emotionless, just as every other day. My father drains all the energy from my body. He crushes my spirit and my desires. I listen to him drone on about the reaping tomorrow, stony and harsh, before excusing myself to my room. I can't cry. I can't smile. I can't even speak. All I want is to get away from him.

All I want is to get home in a few weeks. All I want is to be remembered. All I want is my brother to be proud of me. I don't care what that man thinks; I'll never be like him, even if I come back. I'll never be like him.

I shake my head as I flop down on my bed.

I don't want to be like my father...but nowadays...it seems as though I'm becoming more and more akin to him. And if Styx wasn't there...

I shudder.

I would already be as sullen and gruff and apathetic as my father.

And as much as I hate to believe it...that may be my fate if I come home.

Perhaps it is better to die in the arena than to live a life full of stern solitude.

* * *

**Jupiter Cass, 17, District 2 male**

I wake up with a grimace. I am momentarily dazed, unnerved by the present warmth of another person beside me. It's not too long, though, before my mind snaps back to reality, and I glance down at Lyra, before very carefully peeling away the sheets, standing to my feet, pulling on the clothes discarded beside the bed, and walking toward the door. The normally loud and bustling, crowded house of our beloved Mayor is presently empty, and I have no trouble slipping through the white, overly decorated hallways, feet echoing softly with every step across the marble floor.

In the back of my mind, there's a nagging feeling, something telling me I should have waited for Lyra to wake up, something telling me how I could have played my next card against the Mayor, but I ignore it, steeling my face. There's no time for this kind of...petty thinking. It's useless, in the scheme of things.

I hear the door creak open beside me, and upon second glance, realize it is simply being blown by the wind outside. The hinges are loose, almost as if someone had attempted to break in. I smirk. Good luck to anyone that did- but I got here first. And my games are better than simple theft.

I am halfway tempted to take the back route through the alley to my own home, just in the thought that I might be recognized by someone on the streets between here and my home. As popular as I'm seemingly becoming, it wouldn't be a shock. But it wouldn't be welcome, either.

I choose the streets, following the common route through the center of the city, making sure to put that oh-so-dazzling grin on my face as I brush through crowds. I briefly wonder why it is so busy, but once again, that's not really important. What's important is getting to the Training Center before late morning.

And then I hear a voice. "Yo! Jupiter!" A rather subtly built guy answering to the name Roar Lyle runs over in my direction, slap-happy psychotic grin fixed on his face and waving hand.

"Roar," I greet him. "Man. What's up? Been a few days." I pause. "And you took care of...?"

"Heh, no problem, J. I've got your back on these things." He punches my arm. "Today's the big day, right?"

"Big day?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah! It's your year, right?"

"Today is...reaping day?" I ask. When did this happen?

"Fuck me if it isn't." Roar replies.

"I'd rather not." I say, turning around toward the square. The crowds suddenly make sense. And then... "Well, I'm going to make a horrible first impression. I half expect my mother not to let me in the house after I left last night."

"No way, J. Your mother's crazy for you. Even if you kill someone, she wouldn't care."

"And I have." I remind him. "You're entirely right." I laugh. "Lyra was good last night."

"You any closer to getting the man?"

"What?" I question.

"It's entirely obvious that you're using her, Jupiter. Well, to us people down in the sewers."

I snort. "You're smarter than I give you credit for."

"Obviously."

I turn around to the square again. "Should probably run. Applaud when I volunteer, okay?"

"Sure thing, J. Sure thing."

* * *

The first thing I notice is that everyone- literally everyone- is dressed nicely, except for me. The second thing I notice is that Lyra is openly glaring at me from the 16 females' section. I almost laugh at that. Is it because I left her this morning? I send her a wave in response, and her face breaks out into a smile again. Princess can't stay angry for too long.

People cluster near me. I've heard my grin has that quality to it; the quality that just makes people want to tell me things. It's always been to my advantage. Ever since I was a child I've been smiling. Even then, it had the same effect. And when I found that people would talk to me, when I found that they were willing to tell me things, share things with me that they had with nobody else...I enjoyed that feeling. So I used my wit, my charm, my intelligence, and now look where I ended up. Half this district is in awe of me- my skills in training, my charming persona. All false. But they never needed to know that. It's best to let people believe what they want. Everything reveals itself in the end, anyway.

Like when I killed that kid last year.

Training is the one place where I'm able to let loose from my persona. I'm ruthless. Trained. Deadly. And that's why they love me. Even though I'm a murderer. Maybe I should feel bad that I killed the kid, but hey- it's practice. And practice with the real thing is always better than practice with dummies. Something that can breathe and bleed and squirm under your blade...

The escort, Katayun, a buxom blonde woman with dresses the size of hovercrafts and ugly flowers always pinned in her hair, walks up and says into the microphone, "District Two! How are we today?" The crowd roars. "Wonderful, wonderful. Well, as you know, it's that time of year again."

She hops over to the girls' reaping ball, and the name doesn't even slip though her lips before someone shouts out the two awaited words.

"I volunteer!"

A girl, long black hair falling in waves behind her back, and piercingly cold blue eyes, walks forward from the crowd gracefully, marching up the steps to the stage, and saying clearly, "Athena Slater. That's my name."

And just like before, the escort doesn't even begin to read the name when I call out my own volunteer.

I stride forward, long steps, forceful, and try to make my grin as real as possible when I walk to her. I clap Athena on the back as I walk past her, winking for the camera.

"What's your name, young man?" Katayun asks, grabbing my shoulder.

"Jupiter Cass. Remember it."

"I'm sure we will. District Two! Athena Slater and Jupiter Cass! Shake hands, you two, don't be shy."

I grasp Athena's calloused hand in my own, and she stares forward blankly for a few moments, before saying sharply, "I'm not blind. I won't turn my back to you for a minute. After all, one of us has to die."

"Sure." I say, still grinning.

Mentally, I say,_ I will break you._

* * *

_"The meeting of two personalities is like the contact between two chemical substances; if there is any reaction, both are to be transformed."_


	4. District Three Reapings

Okay, back again, sorry for the late update, there's been a lot going on this month.

So yeah, these are the last reapings. I'm trying to work through to the games as quickly as I can. 1-3 reapings. 4-7 train rides. 8-9 chariots and day before training. Mixed POVs for training. 10-11 for interview night and training scores. 12 for night before the games. So we'll see how this works. I did this setup on my first couple SYOTs (deleted in the Purge) and it worked out better for me. We'll get plenty of face time in the games and even through the other tributes eyes, so don't worry. Mentions to most everyone I have so far are seen in these next few chapters.

That aside, I NEED MORE MALE TRIBUTES. Please, as much as I love the girls, I don't want to have a girl-oriented Hunger Games. I want a mix. So if anyone reading wants to submit a male tribute to me, please do it. I don't care if you already have tributes involved. It's fine, whatever.

Also, I'll have the games for the 37th going up in their separate story on my profile, so please watch for that.

District 3 is brought to you by infamouskal420 (Bug Lumen) and ShayCandyBar714 (Cable Barric). Thanks for the tributes, and please leave me some feedback.

* * *

**District 3: Like Moths to a Flame**

* * *

**Cable Barric, District 3 female**

I see a girl, dark brown hair and eyes with darkened circles beneath them in her reflection. I see a frustratingly annoying girl whom nobody cares about in her shadow. I see countless days passing in her footsteps. I see agony underneath her skin.

I see a girl that doesn't matter.

* * *

I've always wondered why I was so different. People find me to be a nuisance. They shrug me off like an animal, squash me with words like a bug. I've never fit in, except for appearance. I could pass for a bystander. I'm perfectly average from the outside. But then there's the inside. My thoughts and words and general persona. Nobody likes it.

I'm shocked that I'm sitting here now, but I'm crying, and I can't stop. Words flow out of my mouth fast as a river, and I just can't stop the flood of tears leaving my eyes.

And all they can do is stare at me.

I'm not someone memorable; I already know that they could care less, and it hurts so much. It hurts that nobody can ever see me for what I am underneath the rambling words. I'm not worth it, anyway. I've got less worth than anything in this district.

It doesn't shock me, afterward, when I find myself alone with only my thoughts and inner demons. Alone. Always so alone.

Another day passes.

* * *

Every morning, I jump out of bed, bright and ready to face reality. At night, I slink off and curl up beneath a threaded blanket, tucking my knees to my chest and shutting my eyes as I try not to think about what the day held, or what the next day will bring. I've always felt so lonely.

My voice is loud, and sometimes I want to scream, but who would listen? Nobody listens anyway. Why would a tone change anything?

I just wish I knew what was wrong with me. My parents, although they try not to say anything, have admitted I've always been a little 'off' in the way I do things. Socially awkward, maybe. A bit too loud, a bit too wild, a bit too obnoxious.

I shake my head, trying to let go of the thoughts as I bury my face in the book next to my head on the edge of the bed. It's an older one, one from the Dark Days, supposedly. I'm not supposed to have it, obviously, but it's one of the most precious things I own.

There's not much in my life anymore. It feels like I live in a closed off little world, all by myself.

Which is why tomorrow doesn't matter to me.

If I get reaped, I'm going to die. No other options. With only a four point two percent chance of making it back, well, the odds are impossible. And District Three is one of the few districts to have only two victors. Considering myself, well, I'm bright- but I'm not the brightest.

I can imagine what would happen if I got reaped. On the train I'd start going on to my district partner. "Hi, I'm Cable, I've never lived with anyone before, please don't steal my things- you're not a kleptomaniac, right?- I also like books, do you like books? How did you feel about getting reaped? What do you think the Capitol is like? I've never even imagined this possibility. Yeah, I'm dead, and I'll just shut up now, okay?"

Granted, that's not going to happen. I hope.

At least it would lighten the mood?

I hear some quiet talking outside the door of the cramped bedroom I'm in. My mother. She sounds worried about things- I know I've taken too much tesserae to handle- but she shouldn't worry. I mean, it's not like getting killed would be very tragic, right? I'd make it memorable.

But I'm not a memorable person. I'll fade into the background like everyone else.

If I don't get reaped, nothing will change. To be honest, there's a tiny part of me that wants to go into the games- to prove to others that I can be more than they make me out to be. But if nothing happens, then I'll just sit in this room and cry. Go to school and be laughed at. Ramble on awkwardly to my classmates and parents. And stay friendless. I'm always friendless.

Something's going to change. And if the change I want comes from getting reaped, well, then I guess I'll just have to deal with the consequence.

* * *

**Bug Lumen, District 3 Male**

_It's cold out. Nighttime, most likely. The sky is grey, distant. There's no sound anywhere. Nothing to be seen._

_And then there is. _

_His fists are slamming into the too-bloodied face of another man, red splatters covering the ground near his head as punch after punch is landed on him. A kick to his gut, shards of a broken bottle on the ground beside him. Inside a window above the street, a man yells at a woman. Behind the curtains, you can see the outline of a shadow, one slapping the other in the face, before shoving them to the floor. Rats scurry out from an alleyway, the smell of poison lingering. Inside is a woman's twisted, dark form crumpled on the ground. She jumped, obviously._

_The streets are crowded now, clustered with the ever flowing wave of black and white faceless images. People rushing past to the factories or to their homes. Then, they all turn in one direction in walk away._

_To the Justice Building._

_Because that's today, isn't it? It's today..._

My head snaps forward as a blaring ringing noise hits my ears. I recoil, bumping my forehead into the slanted ceiling right above my mattress, pressing a hand to it as I stumble forward onto the cold, dirtied floor.

I can hear the chattering outside the window of our run-down residence. It's later than morning now. Must be around mid-noon if I'm processing correctly.

Reaping Day.

I shake my head. It's not like it matters, anyway. Each year, everybody worries about what might happen if they get reaped. Not me. My life holds no meaning anymore.

People say I've been desensitized. I don't see that. I look at myself as a realist, nothing more. There is no hope in this world. It's all fogs mixed with grey. Grey. Always grey.

I don't bother looking in the mirror after I'm dressed- the cracks make it impossible to see anything in the first place. And there's really no point, either. What's the point of looking when the person you see has no face?

No face, no heart, no brain, no soul.

I read in a book somewhere about the silent man. Stiches over his eyelids and mouth, plugged nose and ears. He sees nothing, speaks nothing, smells nothing and hears nothing. He relies on touch alone. That's like me. I rely on feel. If I didn't feel, then I wouldn't know. I wouldn't understand.

Life. What is life anyway? It's illogical, irrational, overrated and completely incomprehensible. There is no meaning behind life. Death, for that matter, has no meaning either.

I suppose that's why I'm not worried.

* * *

The square is crowded, but I don't pay attention to any of the forms. Everyone carries an aura of darkness today. Nobody looks forward to this. I don't either, but I certainly don't dread it like most people here do.

And then I hear a voice. An aura of yellow in the midst of black.

Moe practically grabs me and hauls me over to our section as soon as he spots me.

"Reaping Day again, Bug, dearest."

"That it is." I answer, monotonously. "Surprised you didn't vandalize the stage, given your record."

"I did that two years ago. Now I've moved on to better feats." He pauses. "Alori Madison's house."

That sparks my interest. "You went to the _Victor's Village_?"

"No other place was suited to my talents anymore." He pauses. "They killed people. I think they can stand a little art now and then, don't you?"

"I suppose." A pause. "I hear there's a different freak this year."

"Freak one, freak two. They're all the same in the Capitol."

And just as he says that, speak of the devil, there's a tall- very tall- man, with long hair that's colored partway orange, mixed with black that falls almost to his feet. His face is decorated with white paint.

"Pasty-face." Moe says. "But it's a guy, that's a bit different."

"ALRIGHT." The man yells, effectively silencing the crowd. "District Three, back again. I've always found the Dark Days to be a little dull, so I won't be showing the video." A few hushed gasps sound at this. "And, to switch it up even more, we'll do the gentlemen first."

His shoes, tips points upward, move in fast steps toward the male's reaping ball.

"Bug Lumen? Is there a Bug Lumen here?"

Moe gives me a little tap.

I move with no hesitation, until I'm standing next to the escort and Victors, eyes staring blankly at the crowd before me.

"Well, Bug, let's see which lovely lady will be accompanying you, shall we?" The escort walks to the female reaping ball with just as much haste- it seems to me he just wants to get out of here- and draws a name. "Cable Barric?"

I know the girl. She's a bit younger than me, and pretty average looking, but I'm positive I know her. With a mouth like hers it's hard not to notice sometimes.

She's smiling as she walks up, and a tiny laugh even leaves her throat, but when her eyes meet mine I can see her fear. I shake her hand before the escort even asks us to. It's not for me, but more for her need for support right now. I'm not sure how she's feeling- mixed aura coming off of her. I can tell she wants to be careless about this, but she's being illogical. If she's scared, she should show it.

"Bug, right?" She asks. "I think I recognized your name. We've met before, right. Are you nervous? I can't believe I got reaped, I'm sure you can't either, it's just not really...feasible, I guess." She gives a halfhearted smile as the escort pats our backs, nudging us toward the train.

"We don't have all day, kids, so I'd hurry along."

* * *

_"More matches are lost from carelessness at the beginning than any other cause."_


	5. District Four Train Rides

This is an incredibly quick update. Unfortunately, I won't be making updates this quickly very often. I've got so much with school that it's a miracle I finished all my homework this weekend. So, yeah, not much to be said here.

That being said, if anyone wants to submit some mentors to me, I'd like to have some. I need mentors for 5, 7, 10, 11 and 12. So if you'd like to fill any of those spots, please message me and I'll send you the mentor form. Also, depending on the detail of the mentor, they may get their own oneshot.

Okay, so District 4 is train rides. TRAIN RIDES, NOT REAPINGS. Just a reminder.

District 4 is brought to you by Aileen's Feather (Michelle Dolohov) and SPACE MAN OH SPACE MAN (Wolfgang Shivelbush). Thanks for submitting, and I hope I do your tributes justice. They were some of the more... interesting ones I received. I'm sorry if I don't portray them exactly as you wished. Please feel free to criticize and leave feedback, as I don't really feel this chapter does them justice.

* * *

**District 4 Train Rides: Farcical and Tenable**

* * *

**Michelle Dolohov, District 4 Female**

* * *

So...this is what getting reaped feels like. Hm. Well, it's not as...harsh...as I believed. There's something...subtly honest in the event, I guess. And besides, my district partner seems like the type it'll be easy to push buttons with. I can see how strained he is, even now, looking at him on the other side of the car, talking with our mentor.

Our latest mentor is a girl named Cirrepathes, also called Circe, who won the thirty-fifth games a couple years back. She's the type that everyone seems scared of. I have a feeling that she's just got a temper. And it's not like she can offer any helpful or _good_ advice anyway. Besides, I already know what I'm doing. Take a few risks, make a few good plans and hope it all works out. There's not much else to be said.

Just to get this out there, I'm not a Career. By any means. Even though I'm from Four, I'll admit it, I don't have much in the way of weapons expertise and I wouldn't kill for fun. That doesn't put off the fact that this entire scenario is funny to me. I mean, a Career district girl reaped? _Reaped_? And of all people it was me.

I have to contain my laughter or go to hell.

Well, honestly, sitting here's getting a little boring. It doesn't seem like anybody's even noted my presence yet.

"HELLO?!" I yell, loudly, standing. The mentors and my district partner...what's his name? Wolston or something? Yeah, definitely Wolston. I give a little wave to them, before turning and walking off down the hall.

I think I'll sleep for awhile.

* * *

The first thing I note is there's a knock on the door of my room.

I groan, rolling over onto my side, but suddenly feel myself falling. My head hits the floor with a bang, and my groaning increases. The door opens.

"Michelle, right?" A voice asks. The mentor. Damn. "We're watching recaps. You shouldn't miss it."

I stand, throwing the blankets off of me, not even caring that they're now in a crumpled heap on the floor. "Yeah? Well, I don't think it really matters_ that_ much. I mean, what do I get out of it? A few names."

"Don't you want to see who your probable allies are?"

"Allies? Sorry, I'm not a Career, and I don't like people." I shove past her, grinning. She shakes her head, and I growl. "Oh, and also, the rules of waking me up: shut the hell up, get out of my way, and don't ask me any questions. You just crossed all the lines."

"Do you really think it's a good idea to speak to your _mentor_ like this? I am your key to sponsors, which could mean life or death. Right now, I don't like you. You know what that means?" Circe asks.

I shake her off with a smile. "I was just kidding. Of course I'll watch them with you. You really think I was that rude?"

She gapes for a few seconds. "You- what?"

"I admit, though, it's fun seeing you get all riled up. I thought you would slap me for a second. That would have been fun."

"You _like_ getting hit?"

"The build up to it is pretty thrilling." I admit, before grabbing her arm.

"What are you doing?"

"You're the one who said we should go watch the reapings, right? So that's what we're doing."

* * *

There's not too much in the way of good allies. Obviously, the Careers are out, and all of them except for the girl from One look like they could rip me in half. I wouldn't mind starting a conversation, though. Maybe I could fake my way into the pack? Actually, that probably means my imminent death. So...that's out. I'm a thrill seeker, not a suicidal.

The pair from Three don't look like much, outside of the boy's blank stare and the girl's super-fast hyperactive talking. She looks like she wanted to cry, though. So probably not a great ally.

Then there's us. So his name's Wolfgang? Oh.

I don't really think much can be said about my reaping. The only notable thing about me was my smirk. But I have plenty of time to leave an impression later. And judging from the way Circe's mouth still is gaping at me, I think I'm already working through that pretty well.

I don't really notice the rest of the reapings. I'm too busy thinking about how my stomach just won't shut up, especially when there's all that Capitolian food on the table behind us. I doubt anyone would care if I left anyway. I stand up, stretch, and make an exaggerated yawn.

"I'm famished. Can we eat?"

"Yes." says Wolfgang. "The competition this year seems to be risible anyway." I grin.

"Then we're in agreement. Reapings are over, nothing else to see there."

* * *

**Wolfgang Shivelbush, District 4 Male**

* * *

There is nothing but silence as we take our seats at the table. Michelle immediately goes to work on the food, followed shortly by our mentors, who, speaking of, seem to be completely useless.

"So." Michelle says. "Isn't this cozy? Maybe we should start offering some advice?" She looks pointedly at Cirrepathes.

I don't really focus on what the woman has to say. It is of little importance to me. My strategies have already been predetermined, and I plan to follow through on them. My eyes drift to the window behind our escort- some silly woman with purple hair and eyes, named Carminilia if I remember correctly, although her name doesn't particularly matter, as I won't be conversing with her.

Outside, I can see the tall lights illuminating the factories of District Three, the white cemented walls, peeling and cracked. Crumbled buildings are on the outskirts of the district, barely seen as we fly past.

Michelle is still talking and I half wonder if she has a brain connected to her mouth or not. She doesn't seem particularly bright, nor strong, and I personally, wouldn't mind seeing her killed. For all I know, it could be me. Perhaps it would be better if it was me than another.

I excuse myself early, not one for making small talk with anyone, including our useless mentors. They may have won the games, but Yanick only won by hiding the entire time, and Cirrepathes made a meager two kills. Also, the arguing is a good indication that they aren't exactly blessed with knowledge. Skill possibly, but not knowledge.

It's coming to the end of a long day.

I should make it known, not now but at the right time, that I will not be joining the commonplace Career alliance. Faking, yes, but not actually accepting. Fate has other plans in store for me. I'm not one to throw my lot in with several brutes who trained to kill for fun. They don't see the craftsmenship of fighting, the finesse, skill or beauty.

Fighting is art. I would know, having been raised in fighting.

I've been expected to volunteer for years now. Carrying on the name of the Shivelbush clan is an honor, really. Yet even my family, prestigious and honorable, does not understand my musings on the art of battle. It is passion, much like desires of a relationship. For me, running my hands over the curve of a blade is like the connection between human flesh. It is beauty, yet it is so differently seen. Blood is paint on a desolate white canvas.

In honesty, I have always known that fighting in the games would be my purpose.

Yet there's a part of me that feels there is something else that I have not seen...something missing, per se. A part of me feels lost.

* * *

The walls of the room are white, the color of purity, so ironic in such a distant way. For that matter, practically everything in this room is white, mixed with details of light blue here and there. I lie backward, propping my neck against the headboard and staring at the door.

I often wondered what it would be like in this position, the position which I was destined to have in my eighteenth year, yet I never expected this.

It's so quiet here, peaceful yet solemn. There is a dark light filtering through the curtains of the singular window in the cabin. It is nighttime, but I figure it is drawing nearer to dawn.

I have never been one to ponder my thoughts for such an extended time, but tonight is a night where one cannot help but ponder, I suppose. The whispering of the silence is so much louder than actual words.

My fingers tap against the mattress. A resounding strumming noise seems to blossom at the touch, yet I pay it no mind. It is a welcome comfort in all the thoughts. It is external, something to focus on that is actually heard. The beat of my hand against the covers in the dark is almost reminiscent of something...or someone.

Ferris was the one friend I had in Four, and to say we were opposites could not be more of an understatement. Ferris was never one to be involved in the politics of the Games, the politics of honor for the clan. He was always a sort of light. I had never seen him to be unrelaxed before, whereas I felt uneasy in most any situation. Out of place, perhaps. There were times when I wasn't training that I would walk down to the docks by the large river, and I would see him, strumming a beat on the rocks with a stick. I do believe that is where we first met.

There are many reasons for me to fight for return. Honor, above all...but behind that...I feel as though I would like to come home for Ferris more than anything. And perhaps for my own measures. Now, looking back, I feel I have yet to live.

What is my purpose?

Perhaps I shall find it in the Arena. Perhaps it will save me.

Or perhaps after I learn it, I should like to stay there forever.

* * *

_"Be courteous to all, but intimate with few, and let those few be well tried before you give them your confidence."_


	6. District Five Train Rides

So, yes, I'm finally back. This chapter is District 5 train rides, not much else to say. Thanks so much to all who have submitted mentors and tributes- I have three male slots open still, so if anyone is interested in those, please send in a tribute! Anyway, here is District Five, tributes courtesy of nevergone4ever (Blaze Travis) and ShayCandyBar714 (Finch Calin); (my buddies! Thanks for the great tributes). Mentor (Edison Locke) courtesy of roses are white So, yes, three more tributes and I will start/finish the blog! I really appreciate all the submissions I've gotten so far and look forward to getting these last few.

Without more AN, chapter 6; District 5 Train Rides

* * *

**District Five: Parallel and Perpendicular Lines**

* * *

**Blaze Travis, District 5 female**

There was something odd, I believe, when I stepped onto the train, said goodbye to my District, my family, my life, my reality, possibly forever. And now I'm here, dumped into a new reality that threatens to carry me away like the rushing river running through my own home. In the end, I don't know what to feel. I'm not upset- or maybe I am. I'm always angry, so who can even tell anymore? And if I win...well, we'll just say I'm a lot like Edison.

I'm in the midst of debating my options and going through visions of every possible way I can kill someone in the arena. I've always wondered what it would be like, killing. To feel the blood coating my hands, my weapon. Why is it I never once picture my own death? I'm certainly not invincible, not by any means. Yet somehow...I don't think I will die. There's this pull on my mind, a sort of whisper I hear that tells me how to move next. The games are exactly like a chess board. I can either be a pawn, or I can be a king. A Victor.

There is nothing I can feel, looking at the other tributes. Only emptiness. Life feels so bland, outside of the nightmares. It is, perhaps, the nightmares, that are keeping me alive. My purpose may be that of a pawn, in terms of the timeline I'm on. Or more simply, the line I'm on.

I walk on a line, parallel to all others. There is nothing that would draw me towards another human being mentally. I try to smile, I try to be amiable, but I'm dying. It's a dark, empty space inside my head and my heart, slowly pumping blood, the only color I can focus on, the red, the pitch, all of it coming together. Gore and death. Are they perhaps visions? One day, I'll meet those lines that come so close to my own. One day, I will live simply on instinct. That day is fast approaching. The games will determine everything.

Or will they? Is there perhaps a chance that my future will be met before or after? The only thing that can determine anything is my own mind, my own feelings, strengths and weaknesses. Things I have yet to identify. I am too caught up in the idea of the parallel, too far lost from reality despite my own charming abilities, to see clearly.

I don't know how to identify myself...now that I'm gone. I'll miss Ruby, Ryder, Mom and Dad, Dalton and Ryan...but I don't know what else to say. Will I meet them later? Would I kill them? If I was to die, I would have liked to...or is that possessiveness? I need them, they need me.

At night, I find myself curled up in bed, eyes wide open, trying to process the coldness of Edison and the oddity that is Finch and I can't help wondering how I ended up here, like this. I've always dreamt of being alone, but I never thought it would actually happen. Now that is has, I feel so lost. So desperate for the warmth that comes with others. The warmth of those close to me.

I found kinship, though. Edison, aged and sullen, is me. If I were to win, we would be so similar, perpendicular lines, to be precise. I would become callous, so caught up in memory that I am distant and cut off. I wouldn't speak much, just as he barely speaks. I wouldn't give advice because there is no advice to give. His stare says it all. "Kill them-or be killed yourself." I know the devastation of that year, the only year that District Five has ever gained a Victor. In the end, I know that I don't want to end up like that, even though I'm on a clear cut path to that intersect.

I don't want to be a Victor. But to be honest, I'm not sure what I do want, either.

* * *

My mentor seems uncaring of my presence that evening while our escort, a fussy blonde man with oriental features, seems to be directing every question imaginable at me and my district partner- Finch, as I found. I answer to the best of my abilities, adding in a smile or hand gestures when needed.

"So, Blaze, honey," our escort, Minhyuk, says, folding his hands neatly against the table. "How exactly did you feel about the reaping? I saw a sort of twinkle in your eye when you looked at me there." He leans in slightly, a teasing tone to his voice.

"I felt..." I pause, searching the depths of my mind for a word. "...frozen."

He taps a finger against his chin. "That's..." I can't make out the rest of his sentence as he then stands, moving off to the side, but I can swear I hear him mutter to Edison as he passes by, "...just like you."

* * *

**Finch Calin, District 5 male**

I have left for my rooms almost immediately after we ate. My district partner sends a glance to me as I slip away, but I don't return it. I don't know her and I don't care for her so why should I look with the intensity she does?

My fingers run over the cold metal of the drinking flask hidden inside my front pocket, and I have no doubt our mentor will be too dazed to notice that it's gone. It already seems like an eternity that I've been here, and yet...it hasn't even been a full day.

Still, I far prefer it to the Community Home. After Aryanna had to let me go, I hadn't gone a day where I had felt so filled as I do now. The luxurious rooms that supposedly don't even compare to the Capitol, the food which I had no trouble taking as much as possible of, the clothes filling the closets inside the room...it's like a dream to me, an illusion...a nightmare, perhaps.

I bury my head into the pillow on the bed, face down so I can see nothing but black. I can hear the stars outside of the windows calling to me with their shine...I wonder if, back home, Mirage is looking at the stars as well.

I know Minhyuk and even Edison already consider me to be a lost cause, if their exclusion and sideways glances say anything. I know that I probably agree with them. Someone like me, a twelve-year-old thief with no other skills to speak of, has a slim chance of even passing the bloodbath. I'm good on my feet, but once I'm caught, I know it would be over.

I roll onto my side, eyes boring into the wall across from 'my' bed. The train makes clanging sounds as it continues over the tracks, and I feel a light breeze ruffling through the room, though I cannot tell where it has come from. My thoughts are closing in rapidly, and I can't keep the nightmare at bay.

In six days, I will be dead. I will be completely lifeless, cold as stone, silent as the grave- though I'm close to that already-, and nobody will think a thing of it. Does Aryanna remember me, the little boy she had to cast out after her husband's death? Mirage may cry, I think, but I know she's strong and rarely lets her tears show. There is nobody to care, to remember. My voice will join thirty six sets of twenty-three, mingle with them but never release the words I hold in my heart. Because there's nothing that could ever release those words. they're buried, stuck forever inside the roots of my veins. Six days from now, I'll be in hell, but mentally I won't know. I'll be dead.

It's hard, thinking about how fleeting life is. One morning you wake up and that night you're on a train, knowing exactly when you will die, just not knowing the how or who. Why do I accept it so easily? Why is it that nothing matters to me anymore? There is a coldness, I think, an icy wall around my insides, something preventing others from hearing me.

And I think that I might know somebody else like that too.

My mind jumps backwards to the moment when Blaze was looking at me on the train earlier, her eyes covering up depth, a deep chasm. Like mine.

Maybe I could have a chance after all.

Maybe I'll ask her tomorrow.

* * *

There is no sunlight in the dim-lit room when my eyes open, but I can hear the rustling of curtains, the sound of water running near me. For a moment I believe I'm hallucinating, but my eyes snap open, and there's a beautiful, black haired woman sitting above me, staring down into my eyes. There's a second where I wonder if I'm staring at Mirage, but I know it can't be. She's too quiet, and that's when I realize that she is an avox.

She ruffles my hair gently as my eyes close again. I hear the click of a door, and then there's nothing. It's gone, completely gone.

I sleep once more.

* * *

**Edison Locke, District 5 mentor**

I sit in the chair facing the dark night outside the window, a night where a sun is only now beginning to break through the clouds, and I hear a movement behind me. I jump, alert suddenly, before relaxing as the familiar face comes into view.

The boy looks shocked, and I growl out a deep "What do you want?" as our eyes meet. Finch's eyes grow wider, and he stops his movement, but says nothing. I settle back into the chair, keeping my eyes trained on him.

He turns to the window, eyes wide as though he is deeply contemplating something, and I have a flashback to Minhyuk's words only hours ago.

_"...you. They're exactly like you, Edison. Like my Victor. I don't think you'll be alone after this year. Maybe I'll get a ticket out too."_

I notice him staring at me, and snap out a few quick words that leave the boy with his mouth slightly open, but eyes staying faded and normal.

"You won, right?" He asks, voice cracking as though it hasn't been used in years. Like mine.

"If I hadn't I wouldn't be here." I answer, simply.

"I want to ally with Blaze." He says. "Is that a good move?"

I shake my head. "Whatever you do...don't get attached, kid. Give her what she needs if she accepts, but there's a point where you'll have to kill her. And you know what comes after that...only one of you can survive that battle." A pause. "This train is full of similar people. We're interconnected, like perpendicular lines. I have no doubt I'll cross paths with one of you again, but...well, that's up to fate, I suppose."

I shake my head, thoughts pooling inside my skull.

"Get to bed, kid. Sleep, think, do whatever the hell you want. I've told you what you need to know."

* * *

_"Every man is more than just himself; he also represents the unique, the very special and always significant and remarkable point at which the world's phenomena intersect, only once in this way, and never again."_


	7. District Six Train Rides

_District 6 train rides! First off, I'd like to thank the people who are reviewing for me...I know I haven't been around much and the chapters are too short and so on. I really appreciate that you take the time to comment on my work and the portrayals as everyone likes to know when they are doing something correctly...me more than others probably. Ah, sorry for taking time from the chapter. Thanks again._

_Characters this time around are courtesy of roses are white (Nisse Harvey) and ShayCandyBar714 (Ford Cooper). Mentor is courtesy of me; first, the character has no relations to my other characters Sungyeon and Sungyang, I just like the variations...secondly, if you haven't read the stories in my Poisonverse yet, centered around this victor (my take on the Male Morphling), you might like to check them out...*shameless self-promotion*. Sorry. Anyway. District 6 train rides!_

* * *

**District 6: The Workings of Temperament and Chaos**

* * *

**Nisse Harvey, District 6 female**

There was a story I heard when I was younger, a story made before the Panem we know came into the being. This story was around a girl, a girl beaten and hurt by her cruel stepmother after her father's remarriage. In some variations, her father was still alive, with no clue of the abuse his daughter received. The girl grew desperate, and, unexposed to the world, snuck off to a ball. In the end of this story, the girl lived happily ever after. The same won't be said for me.

When I ran away from home, I was thirteen. Thirteen and naïve, yet at the same time, jaded. Ever so jaded. It continued, following me, stalking me into my new life, overworked, exhausted, but mirthful. For once, the first time since my mother died, I felt like there was a chance that my story could have a silver lining.

And now I'm here. Reaped. I suppose I should have figured that I would end up like this, stuck on a train halfway to hell. A beautiful hell, but a cruel one. More cruel than District Six. And there's no way this is ending well, be it for me...or for everyone else.

Maybe, if someone picks favourites off of personality, I have a chance. After all, I'm the brutally honest one.

_"What the fuck did you just say?"_

I shake my head at the thought, sitting forward slightly in the seat facing the screen where I can just barely see another district's reapings. Sight doesn't matter. Better for me not to see them.

Fucking Capitol, playing us like this. Who do they think they are, anyway? Rich, spoiled elitists with their overdone appearance and air-filled heads. Pretentious.

"Hah!" Someone laughs, and my eyes immediately narrow into slits at the sight of my district partner.

Speaking of air-filled heads, that boy, despite knowing everything there is to know about the Hunger Games, has one of the most shallow minds I have ever had the 'pleasure' of seeing up close. I wonder if maybe, presuming I actually _do_strangle him, we'll get a replacement tribute. That would be a nice alternative. I wouldn't mind having Aston or Cooper here, really, except they'd probably get killed too if they were.

Or not. The odds might just actually be in their favor. Or in mine, if it comes down to it. I'm confident (maybe). Got a good head on my shoulders (want to yell; so not calm). Quick thinking brain (at least it's not full of empty space like Mr. Dumb-dumb). Actually, it's looking pretty good the more I think about it. If everyone's as unbelievably frustrating as Ford is, I've got this in the bag.

I glance over at the silent, shaking third member of our gathering. Even if I needed advice, there's no way I'd be able to get any from him. There's no way I'd even be able to talk to him.

Ford has other plans.

"Sungyeol Kalier, right? The Twenty-Eighth Hunger Games?" He smirks. Our mentor says nothing, barely acknowledging him. "You're the one that snapped, aren't you? Eating a girl's heart? Disgusting, wasn't it? And your district partner..." He shrugs, leaning back. "Well, I suppose it couldn't be helped. You probably were high then, just like you are now."

It's not a surprise when Sungyeol sits up, arms wrapping around his overly thin frame, and retreats into a different room.

"What the hell?" I snap, turning toward Ford. "You can't just talk to someone like that. What if he's our last hope? You know, for _sponsors,_ or something?"

"You really think that _that_ is going to help us?" He retorts. "Man, you're dumber than you look."

I growl, a sound deep in my throat, threatening to erupt like a volcano. "I'm dumb? _I'm_ dumb? How about you, fucking nutsack? You think you could actually survive a day in there? If I didn't actually have _morals,_ I swear on the fucking _President_ that I'd kill you."

"Whoa, there, Nissy." He says. "Don't be all bark with no bite. As smart as you are, I'm sure you'd realize what would happen if you killed me on the train."

I barely realize that I am now standing upright, my eyes still narrowed. I sit down again, turning away from him. "Don't goade me." I mutter. I won't snap again. I won't. I can't. Because I'm going to make it back. I can't afford to be this angry.

But he'll regret this in the morning. I know he will.

* * *

The window's open to the tiny, unorganized room that seems rather unlike the Capitol, and I'm still sweating. I have no idea why it's this hot on the train, but it just makes tonight ten times easier. Risky, yes, but worth it, hopefully. That asshole. He thinks he can just talk to anyone like that?

It wasn't too hard to find materials around the train car. Obviously, our escort was frustrated too, as he gladly pointed the way to the exact thing I needed. Rope. Flour. Water. Feathers. Sticky mess. I pity the person who has to clean up that room later.

One day away from the Capitol, and things are starting to look up, actually. I just wish I could do the same thing to Aileen. If there was one thing I wanted to do before my life ended, it would be to return her the sorrow she bestowed me. I'll probably never get that chance now, but I guess people trying to kill me are the next best targets.

They don't expect anything from me. But that's good. They'll never see it coming.

* * *

**Ford Cooper, District 6 male**

Being a heavy sleeper doesn't keep me from waking when I feel the first drop or water on my face, or when the feather begins tickling my nose. And when I open my eyes, I am rewarded by the sight of an barrage of white, complete with feathers, cascading down on my head.

And I snap.

"Nisse." I growl, immediately knowing the perpetrator. But rather than stand up, I continue to lie there.

Knowing Nisse, even if for only a couple days, I have no doubt she'll laugh and say outright that it was her. And in all honesty, I shouldn't have gotten so riled up over the entire conversation. But I'd be lying if I said that that little girl didn't annoy the hell out of me, with all her self-righteous and advocating behavior. I can't believe the brat thinks she even has a chance in these games! Even I wouldn't overestimate myself and say that. Ridiculous and immature, exactly what I hate in a person.

My mother was shot for that exact behavior. A Victor of the 20th Hunger Games, the first Victor in District Six, but she was foolish enough to pull a suicidal move and speak up on reaping day.

Four in the head. Six in the chest. Two in the legs. Twelve shots total from the peacekeepers, and she fell like a bloodied doll.

I look over the writing on my own arm. The last words ever spoken by my mother, the first Victor of District Six. _There is nothing but hatred, raw brutality, in the Capitol's mindless games._ For so long I didn't know what to believe. Now, I feel I do. My mother was never right in rebelling. The Games are there for a reason. And although I never would have chosen to enter the arena, I can only hope to measure up to her.

But even in playing, there's no possible way. Not for me. A good memory, right? That's what I've got.

And that's another reason why I won't forget the brat's stupid retaliation. Who even cares what I say to our mentor? He's practically brain-dead anyway.

I shout, throat aching as I sit forward abruptly, and fling my arms out. The mixture of what I assume is simple baking flour and water drips off of my skin, a lone feather coming to rest on my forehead. I stare up at it, and without another thought, stand and walk to the shower.

* * *

The morning is tense. Our escort, Amelie, sits across from us, chattering on animatedly about the Capitol.

"You're just going to love your rooms, darlings- there's gold wallpaper now! Gold, highlighted with blue. It's so perfect together! I can't wait to see how they incorporate your outfits for the chariot rides; I heard it's very special this year. You'll be lucky, the first tributes to-"

I ignore the rest of what she says, aiming my glare toward Nisse, who raises an eyebrow in response. I could almost shout in frustration, if I wasn't so focused on keeping my mouth shut for once.

Despite her thoughts, I know for a fact that Nisse couldn't kill me. Rather, it's probably the opposite. I've got more knowledge about the tributes than she ever would. And if Nisse was smart, she would have been watching the reapings last night to look for possible weak points in the other tributes personas. But she didn't. Calm and self-assured, supposedly. Unlike me. I'm a loose cannon, one that could misfire at any moment. Particularly at her.

I shake my head, and turn away from her, focusing on the copious amounts of food laid out on the table.

Our mentor has yet to show.

Nisse is looking at me evenly now, and I know then that what we're doing, the thing that would seem to be only a simple staring contest to an outsider, has become a battle of wits, neither of us wanting to admit defeat.

So that's why it's so incredibly odd that, at the exact same moment, we turn our heads away, no longer smirking, but thinking to ourselves.

And I chuckle darkly, muffling my mouth with one hand.

_Just you wait, Nisse Harvey,_ I think. _We'll see who **really** is the one to watch for._

* * *

**Sungyeol Kalier, District 6 mentor**

I'm not going to look at them, the bickering, wild-card pair that seems too lost in cockiness to actually realize what's in front of them.

Strategy? There is no strategy to winning the Hunger Games. Loss, pain, _agony tearing and ripping at your spine, boiling your skin and searing your eyes?_

No. They're not going to come out of that arena. So what they say to me holds no bearing over anything anyway. I can't help them. I couldn't help Carina. I can't even help myself.

I should just die. Just like the twenty children I failed, the people who lost the Games, the people I killed, the people who bled dry in front of me, whose bodies I tortured, slowly, agonizingly slowly, waiting for that blood, the blood, the blood...

The vein.

The needle pierces my skin, breaking in slowly, and I groan, hoping, silently, that this time will be the last time. That this time I won't have to wake up.

* * *

_"The only competition worth focusing on is against you, yourself, yesterday."_


	8. District Seven Train Rides

_District 7 train rides and Capitol arrival! I got some wonderful thoughts last chapter, and I've just finished a couple of my summer classes, so expect a few updates the next couple weeks. I'm so psyched to move towards the games! That being said, this is the last train ride chapter, next is D8 with Chariots, D9 with the night after that, the mixed POVs for training, the D10 training scores and night before interviews, D11 with interview night and D12 with the night before the games! I see eight chapters there and then we're in._

_District 7 is courtesy of nevergone4ever (Belladonna Crystal), HungerGamesFan20 (Oak Kutter) and Infamouskal420 (Garo Curtis). Thanks for the tributes (and mentor), sorry for the suckish chapter, know it's not what you hoped for._

**_Also, Infectious now has a blog! Here it is:_**

**_ infectiousfleshwounds. weebly .com_**

**_or on my profile...I spaced it out but it's being difficult._**

* * *

**District 7: Barriers (also known as 'I Built A Wall to Shield My Heart')**

* * *

**Belladonna Crystal, District 7 female**

The morning comes as an unwelcome reality, sunlight blaring in through the tiny windows of my room on the train car. As usual, I did not sleep.

I'm not an insomniac, really. There's nothing about the night that could startle me or prompt me to stay awake. In fact, dreams are the bane of my existence; they provide an escape from reality, a backdrop of expectations almost. On the way to the Capitol, my mind is ever so frustrating. Ever so wary. It's got nothing to do with my District partner- I couldn't ask for a better one, really- and it doesn't even include my grim, drunken mentor. Simply the raw, sheer emotions that always seem to plague me. Only now it's become ever so vivid. Ever so _real_. And there's nothing that could jolt me away from the truth that is weighing down on me, causing my shoulders to drop a little more every day. It's like Atlas, the Greek titan forced to hold the world on his shoulders. Except I'm not holding the world. I'm holding my district, I'm holding the tributes, and I'm holding myself.

People say it's easy to put yourself first and I couldn't agree more- usually. But putting yourself first always brings the roughness, the sorrow, the blunted blade digging into your neck. Putting yourself first means keeping yourself out of harm's way, and even though that's what actions are meant to do, it's always nearer to impossible. Especially now; in the Games, putting yourself first often means your own demise. A lapse into insanity. A downward spiral which one can never truly recover from.

I stand, moving toward the window, cracked open slightly so I can feel the breeze from the side of the mountains. How close are we to the Capitol now? A couple hours, I presume. Yet the sunlight still shines, the mountains still glisten white with snow, and nothing has ever seemed more serene than this. So tranquil. No when, no want, no worry.

Or at least, that would be the case if I wasn't here as a tribute. Bribing us with a false hope, a false peace, taunting us by waving it in our faces...

Is it worth it? Is it worth it to be here, to be alive, under the sun which our dreams have burned beneath, walking the ground that runs red with the bloody tears of the multitude of tributes that had been on this very train? No, now's not the time to think about absurdities. It's reality. My reality, Panem's reality, something we all must face. Yet it nags at me...

Why am I here?

What purpose do I serve?

A knock sounds on the door. "Bella, dear, please do come out."

I automatically say "Of course," when inside my mind is saying _'Never'._ I could waste away in this very room, drive the Capitol mad. The screaming woke up my partner Oak on the first night and he pleaded for me to let him in, but I couldn't do it. I never can. It's so easy to build a wall, a wall of thorns and steel around my heart, so sharp, rigid and cold that it shuts off anyone trying to approach.

It's easier to pretend you're fine, that nothing's wrong, that even though you're clearly depressed, it's how it should be. It's easier not to beg for someone to save you from the world you're secretly drowning in. Or is it? I suppose that's the real question.

I walk to the door, unlock it, and make way for another day.

* * *

Nobody says anything. Nobody says anything until I accidentally stab myself with a fork and say 'Shit' rather loudly, causing my escort to glare, her mouth pressed into a firm line as she says, "Tut, tut, Belladonna."

Oak gives me a nod as my eye starts to twitch, almost as though I'm going to cry. I don't, though. I never do. Crying may be good for the spirit, a way to cleanse and purge the soul (as my parents would say, though they already considered me a 'witch child' by the time I turned seven), but I just can't force it out of my body. Not like the screams, the chest pains, the tightening to my throat I always feel, the tightening of a hand strangling me in such an agonizingly slow way that even breathing stings.

I'm shaking my head now, staring forward at the tablecloth, stained from some type of red liquid; looks like wine, probably Garo's doing. I'm trying to will myself to calm down, but I can't.

It doesn't come with warning, the attacks. They're sudden and painful, always building up even when I try so hard to force them down. I shake my head back and forth, back and forth, and it's almost as though I can hear and count seconds ticking by in my ears as my breathing becomes more ragged, more painful.

The hand on my shoulder relaxes me. I incline into the touch almost naturally as Oak murmurs words in my ear, words I can't make out, but I know he's trying to help, I know he's there and the thought that someone else is _there_ is so relaxing, somehow. I face my head forward and upward, the breathing becoming more normal, my movements becoming flexible again instead of being fixed in rigidity.

I'm not going to scream.

Not this time.

* * *

**Oak Kutter, District 7 male**

I'm here. I'm here and feeling so weary, so tired, so worn down that it's practically eating me. Is this what I amounted to? Another pawn for the Capitol? Did I protect those others in vain?

Yes.

What do I have in this reality? I have a firm build. I have a loyal heart. But I'm scared. I'm a coward because I could never help myself- that's even worse than not helping others, if you really look at it. After all, what hope do you have of fixing something, of helping something, if you can't even help yourself? Belladonna and I, that's how we're opposites.

She can't cry. She doesn't cry. But she screams, she thrashes, she hates the world. Me, I do cry. But I don't scream or thrash and I love the world- my world- for what it is. Or what it was.

I'm resigned. I'm not going to ask for anything, not going to fight for anything; if I can't save myself, then what point is there in fighting for myself? The games base from brutality, raw human nature, and that's why I don't belong there. In the games, it's every man for himself.

But I'm still here. And even though I can't break through my own boundaries, even though I can't help myself, I can do something. I can be there for someone else. That's my role. That's where I've always been, at another's side, defending them.

I used to hate everything about myself. I don't want to stand out. I want to fade into the background and disappear, but my physique and stature never allowed for that to happen. That's when it started. If you look like me, you're supposed to have a personality to go with your face, but I don't. I never have. I'm amiable, but not in the abrupt way that my face would suggest. I can't be that way. I can't match my structure. I'm too defensive, mild mannered, soft-spoken, and...well, too soft. Too soft for the games, which have already broken me. Just by the reaping, I cracked. I may have the face of a strong person, but it's just a mask that I can't rip off. I'm normal, standard outer district fare with workaholic parents. Yeah, knowing how to use an axe properly may be an advantage, but under that, is there anything?

Am I a blank slate?

I don't want to admit it, but I know the answer. So do these people that barely know my name, that don't have a clue who I am other than the bulky young man who broke down at the reaping. Nobody expected to see someone like me cry.

Maybe that's why I did.

I can't be the person they expect me to be. I can't be the person I, myself, expect me to be, because I am white. I am vanilla. I am a blank canvas that became to cluttered with emotions and threw them away only to return to the same place.

So I won't be me anymore. The Oak Kutter that lived in District Seven is gone. In his place is Oak Kutter, a tribute of the Thirty-Eighth Annual Hunger Games.

And this Oak Kutter may not be able to save himself. But he will save someone. Someone that deserves it. Someone that is a survivor. Someone who's not a blank canvas.

* * *

The train arrives in the Capitol as the sun is beginning to set. We're greeted by thousands of shouts, jeers and cheers from everywhere at once, cameras flashing in our faces, people trying to catch our attention as our escort, Abilene, guides us to the door of the tributes' dorms, and Garo tries not to trip over his own feet behind us, the drunkard who is somehow graceful in his clumsiness; perhaps it comes with being a Victor.

For some reason I can't comprehend, I sling my arm around Belladonna's shoulder. Her face is scrunched up again in a way that suggests her emotions threatening to burst. The crowd eats it up, yells growing louder with a few added catcalls.

We disappear through the door and the noise vanishes.

Belladonna opens her mouth as if to say something, but nothing ever comes out. She glances down, fluttering her eyes closed.

"You don't have to say anything." I tell her.

"Thank you." Her voice whispers, raspy as though it hasn't been used in a long time, although it's quite the opposite. I remember her yelling at our escort this morning. I sort of wish I had been the one to say 'shut the hell up' first.

I nod, turning away slightly. "Hey, actually, Bella- can I call you Bella?"

A nod.

"Would you-"

"Be in an alliance with you?" she finishes. I nod. "Yes." She affirms, turning her head toward the mirror panel of the elevator. "But I'm a loose cannon. You'd be better off without me."

"And you'd be better off without me." I reply. "Hello, loose cannon. I'm blank canvas."

"Blank canvas?" She asks. "Weirdo."

"You're one to talk." I mutter.

"I was kidding." She pauses. "Are you sure about allying?"

"Positive." I say. Because I've decided.

This is the person I want to go home. She's what I have left of home, and I'm going to make sure she makes it back there. For both of us.

* * *

**Garo Curtis, District 7 mentor**

They're everything I wasn't. In a way, it sickens me. How is it that they can both be so similar, yet so different? Yet it almost gives me hope.

More hope than I've had since the day Rhona was pushed. They lied, but I know. I've always known. Victors can't be happy; the Capitol doesn't allow it. I may have not been forced as low as some, but ever since she left me, since I found her, since she died in my arms, I've been tormented. I killed in the games. I'm no better than anyone else. I'm no better than the Capitol.

They're all dead. My family. My tributes. My friends. Everything I cared about, taken from me by the cruelty and inhumanity of the country. This godforsaken fucking country. Panem.

I finger the gold band on the chain around my neck as I take another swig of whiskey. I've been consumer by grief. Consumed by my own brutality, my own monsters. And in a way, I've killed myself.

So I can't kill anyone else.

* * *

_"Three passions, simple but overwhelmingly strong, have governed my life: the longing to love myself, the search for truth and knowledge and the unbearable pity for the suffering of mankind."_


	9. District Eight Chariots and Night

_District 8. Chariot Rides. Welcome back, friends! Hope you enjoy the update. I've been on vacation with not a lot of time to write. As for this, we have seven chapters until the games after this one. Exciting, no?_

_District 8 was made possible by Pika and Olive's Adventures (Alise Dencin) and Paranoid Sylph (Eidolan Nejem). Mentor was me, again. :)_

* * *

**District 8: Faded Shades of Black in the Wind**

* * *

**Alise Dencin, District 8 female**

My frustrations at the situation are not dimmed by the presence of Capitolian nonsense around us. I've offended the escort, most certainly, and most likely my district partner as well. The room is cold, amplified by my lack of clothing and the way the prep team is swarming around me with their tiny fans.

I try to zone out. Normally it's easy for me, almost always, though that's not proving to be the case tonight. We all have something we do in these situations, the ones where the tension is so thick you can cut it with a knife. For me, it's to leave mentally. Just walk out of the room and shut the door with my mind. For Eidolan, it's counting the very seconds of his life as they pass by. For our mentor, Sephora, it's biting the skin off of her lips. I heard her last night, wailing in her room that was ever so close to mine. She pays no heed to anything I say, anything Eidolan says for that matter.

I feel them pull back the wax paper on my leg, letting forth a loud yelp before covering it up with a blush and a grin.

"Do hold still dear," says Angora, one of the prep team who swarms about pulling at my hair.

"It's still winter." I answer with a shrug. I'm trying not to focus but it just won't work tonight. Maybe it's the small things that are causing large pain or the like, maybe it's the fact that I'm here and not back in Eight like I should be.

_"You look so lovely for reaping day, sweetheart."_

_"Oh, yes." My mother murmured absentmindedly. I felt my grandmother tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear, patting the shoulders of the dress._

_"Luckily it's only for us." She laughs. "We don't have to worry about the capitol getting their hands on our lovely girl here." I feel her lean in to kiss my forehead. My arms instinctively wrap around her, holding her tightly._

_In Eight it's always cold, never seems to warm up- least of all in the factories. I work part time on the looms, sewing with my grandmother. My mother's depressed, but she's been like that as long as I know._

_It's snowing. Cold and foggy with snow on the rise, quite gloomy indeed. Dreadful, almost, ominous. I don't think much of it, I never do. There's an unspoken rule as to how things are in Eight...an uns_

"-unspoken rule..." I murmur.

"What is that, dear?" The woman asks me and I jump a bit, startled at the fact that there is now a single woman sitting before me. "Alise?"

"Y-yes." I reply. "And you would be?"

"Mirella. Your stylist, darling." She smiles, reaching out as if to pat me on the shoulder before retracting her arm halfway. "Let's get you fixed up, then, why don't we?"

* * *

We are mummies.

I can't decide if it's the most ridiculous thing I've seen in my life or if I like the attention it seems to be grabbing. I'm not one to be placed in the spotlight but it seems dulled if they can't see my face. Still, the patchwork wrappings are too tight for my liking, tightly would over my nose and mouth. I can't shake them off and pulling would decrease my sponsors.

District One was diamond-like in their appearance, glittering body suits that made them a crowd favourite again. In front of us, the Dstrict Seven couple is covered in metallic paint made to look like bark. The girl seems like she wants to cry, and I feel a twinge of empathy for her, but I quickly force it back down. Even just here, when we're still out of reach of the games, I don't have the capacity for emotion. If I want to win I have to be callous, cold.

My eyes are drawn toward the screens, quickly changing to cast the President's face over us all, though it's pretty evident we could see him already.

"Tributes, hello and welcome to the Thirty Eighth Annual Hunger Games!" He cries. "Tonight we are gathered..."

My eyelids feel a bit heavy to be honest. I haven't slept a wink since the train and it's really getting to me. I'm trying hard to ignore it, but it's hard when I'm supposed to be staring at the President. Which I'm not right now.

"Sixteen, five, two, two, nineteen, twenty-seven, fifteen and counting." A voice says, and I turn, surprised. Eidolan has not said much to me since the train rides. An outer-district volunteer...it unnerves me.

"What are you counting?" I whisper, and his eyes shoot up to mine.

"I needed to save Surah," he answers. "Numeric functions help me cope."

I raise an eyebrow. "That doesn't make an-"

The chariot jolts again, lurching forward, and I feel my knees start to buckle under me. He places a hand on my bicep, pulling me over, and I start. Someone who is shorter than me and doesn't look to have used muscle a day in his life kept me from falling? I guess outer appearances don't count for much.

"Uhm. Thanks." I say, nodding my head to him.

"Don't mention it." I get as a reply. I nod again, turning as the door opens and the stylists help us down from the chariot. First night in the Capitol. The bed may be softer, but I won't sleep.

* * *

**Eidolan Nejem, District 8 male**

The Capitol is so unstructured it's unbelievable. It's something you could easily tell, from the books and the videos that are sent into Eight every year, but nothing comes close to seeing it up close and personal. Foolish sense of taste. Foolish life, for that matter.

To be frank, it's likely that even Eight is better than here. Of course, it could be the tossing and turning in the uncomfortably comfortable bed provided for us, the disparity in the ever changing colors of the room, the atrociousness of the clothing. I for one have never been as ridiculous as I feel here. Yet at the same time, I am out of place, removed, distant...

It's like being abandoned all over again.

The only thing I really have is Surah. And I owed him my life, so when I saw a chance, I took it.

They say the Dark Days held the worst of the raids, the slander and callousness, brutality and disfiguration; they were wrong. The rebellion of the Organization was the worst. The unheard rebellion, lost forever in silence.

Surah was light for a ghost. Gabardine, Miter, Mei...I wouldn't have been here. No, I shouldn't have been here. Not after that. Why should they help me?

Pale, dismal, jaded...a cynic to the very extent of the word.

"Sixteen, five, two, two, twenty three, thirty four, twenty eight and counting."

* * *

"Do you have a plan, Eidolan?"

"Should I?" I ask, fidgeting uncomfortably in the regal chair.

"Tributes need a strategy going in, even if it's just training. You need to know if you're looking for allies, how to analyze threats, to observe every movement, to train-"

"Strategy?" I ask simply, raising a brow. "Strategy."

"You already have something going for you, though," Alise adds. "You're the only outer district volunteer this year, one of the few to date."

"Perplexing," I answer. "What does it matter, in the end? I've fought, but in the end you lose. You always lose." A pause. "Well, I suppose that's something we all have in common, isn't it?"

The escort leans over, fiddles with the sleeve of my shirt. "My goodness, you look more like a girl than Alise does."

"I think we both find that offensive on many levels." I answer, glancing over to Alise with a raised brow."

"Agreed." She answers simply. "Why isn't Sephora out here? She's our mentor, isn't she, not you."

"Sephora is sick," the escort, Idris, replies with a hint of anger in her voice.

"With what?" I manage to ask back, somewhat cheekily. "With the Victors' plague?"

"That is none of your business."

"You're right," I reply. "Are you close?"

A sigh. "Yes, yes we are. District Eight has not had many Victors; the count is only slightly higher than Six and two are dead. Sephora was my jewel. But she's dead too, isn't she?"

"Death is a conundrum. It's everything and nothing all at once. Isn't it?"

"Conundrum?"

"Is the word not applicable to your vocabulary?" I ask, earning a chuckle from Alice.

"Yes, it seems you're not too capaciously involved, Idris." She adds.

"You must be the most frustrating tributes I have had to date."

"Frustrating or daunting, that's the question." A pause. "I should probably go. Sorry, Alise." I stand to my feet, pushing away the chair and walking with rushed steps back to my room.

Everything, everything here reminds me of what I did. What I was a part of. There was nothing to lose but my indescribably pathetic life. Useless existence should be wasted, no? There is nothing one person could do to change that...

I am reminded of Surah at the thought and quickly force it down, blinking back the crystalline memories threatening to leave my eyes. Yet at the same time, my lips quirk upward into a half grin, starting at the edges and staying only there.

_"This is Eidolan. He's one of us now."_

He was always the most amiable of us, extroverted to the point of being a social butterfly.

_"Kid, get back here. No, not that way, they'll look. Come on, do you want to live or not?"_

And I didn't deserve that kindness after the rebellion. But something grew there. Something became a reality. Something I had seen only as a fantasy, some type of fairytale story made for children.

_"My home is your home, now. Yeah?"_

_"I do comprehend, but your reasoning seems skewed."_

_"You're one to talk, midget."_

_"I'm twelve."_

This...in the end, everything was worth it. I wouldn't change a thing about the past...or the future.

It'll take mistakes like the rebellion to get me back to Eight. And I'm willing to return to what I had been, depraved, for the very sense of my survival. I can't let anything get in the way of my instincts. Not like I used to.

* * *

I don't sleep, stay away with my face pressed halfway into the oversized pillow, words threatening to spill from my lips even in the silence. The emotions I have felt need to be lost for the duration of this journey- or this lifetime, even. The chances of me making it home are slim.

I can hear Sephora through the walls again, the hissing and groaning noises of a pained woman, something I have heard so many times before...yet all have ended in the crash, the drop. The fall...the fall of the organization, of the peacekeepers, of the conflict in Eight, of the families and the orphans alike, the fall of the districts, the fall of each single person into the abyss through time. In the end, nothing changes. The souls from history were lost, save thirty seven. Will I be thirty eight, or will I be a dead, grey figure like the ghosts pounding on the walls of my darkened room?

The future is yet to come, but when it does I see only pain. No matter which route I take.

And I need to overcome that pain.

I need to die.

* * *

_"When did the future switch from a promise to a threat?"_


	10. District Nine Pre-Training

_District 9, which brings us to the night and morning before training! I'm eager to get this chapter out as I'm excited to work on mixed POVs for training instead of character introductions for once. Plus, I want you to see some of the plans I have in mind, with alliances and such...and there's a surprising twist to anticipate as well. :)_

_Also, on another note, as this is the last POV before training, **there will be a second SYOT posted as a follow up tonight accompanying this chapter. I will not accept tributes until Infectious reaches the games, but submit if you are interested. **More details will be in the story and the form will be going up on my profile tonight as well. Also, the **mentors** some of you have sent to me **WILL be used in this next story** as well. So thank you, to those of you whom have sent me mentors. Special words to **roses are white** whose mentor **Edison Locke** will be **featured in the prologue**._

_District 9 belongs to SkinOfInk (Jek Therrin) and Vaan Levy (Lacuna Winters). Mentor, briefly shown, is courtesy of Infamouskal420 (Poppy Carraway). For those of you who have sent me mentors, the brief mentions are not in vain. When we get into the games, there will be a chapter dedicated specifically to the mentors after the bloodbath._

* * *

**District 9: Loneliness and Solitude**

* * *

**Lacuna (Luna) Winters, District 9 female**

I've been made to talk to them since getting on the train, but it's obvious that I can't. I think they've finally started to see that at this point. I'm more quiet than a mouse. Sometimes I'd even wish I was a mouse. A mouse wouldn't get reaped, would they? It tore any life I may have had away from me before it's even begun. I can't go out into the sun, of course, but there is much to do in the night. I was coined the nickname 'Luna', like the moon, due to the special connection I have with the time of day I am currently privy to. There isn't much to say about it, other than the fact that the darkness, only illuminated by lights far down on the streets below, calms me to a certain degree. I could almost imagine it was District Nine...if the beds weren't so soft and the floor so warm and the furniture so ritzy.

But in the end, I'm not in Nine. I'm here, with an impossibly long- or impossibly short- journey laid out in front of me. I'm waiting for tomorrow, but in the long run, I'm waiting for that day, five days from now, that will decide my fate for good. I'm waiting for that final breath that will shake me before I set my foot into the harsh world of the arena...

It's been easier so far, out of touch, out of reach, nobody to talk to and no worries until Reaping Day. On the train is was not all that different, either, I suppose. I sat in my room, silent, for a time, and paused my thoughts only on requests of Jek and our mentor to bring me out for dinner or watching the reapings. I could ignore the rest of their words that feel on deaf ears. Even now, if I close my eyes, it is easy...easy not to imagine the fall.

When I die, should it be easier to keep my mind occupied, to feel serene instead of recognizing my imminent fate? Or should I simply focus on the inevitable pain, in the end?

Perhaps, like my friend the mouse, and my friend the moon, I will go unnoticed, overlooked, yet watchful of the others as I have been my whole life.

* * *

In the darkness, I still do not sleep. In this darkness, the darkness of the Capitol, I passed a few hours yet I still cannot remember the time passing. I feel my head ache and my heart seems about to burst, but it will not; after all, there's really nobody for me to come home to. That shy, pale thing, lacking beauty or personality, without a friend in the world except her mother. My mother...

Mom.

I love my mother more than I love this world, though that isn't saying much. It's really as though she has been the only positive influence in my life. And I do miss her. If I think about her, there is a familiar ache in my chest, like when kids would belittle or push me at school, but stronger. Much, much stronger. It isn't loneliness, it's despair. I'm a victim of these cruel games, just as I was a victim at school all those years ago, a victim to my twin brothers, who loved to tease me.

It's not a surprise I'm so quiet, not when there was nobody to talk to and nothing to be said.

I reach my hand out to the table next to the bed, a glass filled with water still sitting there, untouched. I don't quite recall bringing it in- and then I notice the door is slightly ajar.

I stand, hair falling into my face as I do so. There are no blankets to move, nothing to say. I stand and I walk toward the door and I exit.

* * *

I feel surprised that I hadn't realized there was a way up to the rooftop before. I sit there now, staring out at the beautiful lights of a dead city. My mind goes in a hundred directions at once and all I can do is sigh softly as I look up at the clouds. My ears ring slightly, the pressure of the air hitting them, but I ignore. I ignore everything.

I could stay here, in this spot, forever. The tranquility before a slaughter, it would seem.

I sit, tugging my knees to my chest and looking down, feeling the evening breeze ruffling my hair and clothing. There are still smudges of the paint from the Chariots on my hands, and I rub at it, to no avail.

I stand only when the dawn begins to show and I return to the rooms of District Nine- for the time being.

* * *

**Jek Therrin, District 9 male**

I slam my fist against the wall for what must be the thousandth time in the span of a morning. The escort has called to me, babbling about breakfast, but she couldn't care less because she has that pretty little girl Luna in there with her. Our mentor even came, tried to say something, but Poppy is an airhead. And everyone here- no, nobody here matters. Everyone in this space should just die already.

Including me.

Sometimes, before, I had always wished I would be here, reaped. I've thought too many times about how easy it would be to smash something under my own hands, something that would thrash and bleed. Like my father. That curiosity I had felt upon looking at those two bloodied, gutted bodies that day, the care my father and I had taken moving them into the house, unnoticed...

Nothing could take my father from me, I thought. Even at a young age, I had insured it.

But now something had. And maybe it was destiny, who knows? Who cares? Destiny and fate are the same thing. And my fate was to end up like my father. And one day, I will be my father.

I slam my blood-coated knuckles into the wall once more, uncaring of the pressure placed on my hand, the broken nails digging into my palms. They all want to kill me, right? They always have, just like my father said. So I kill them first. Nothing to it.

* * *

I take my place across from the escort at the table, ignoring the chatter she has already unleased with Poppy. Luna sits there, halfway spun into a day dream. My fingers press into the table as I grasp it so tightly my hands begin to go white. Still, nobody notices.

Luna is weak. She can't kill me, even though I know she probably dreams of it. Everyone does. One look at my face and they're telling me that I'm dead. The whispers in my ears, the shouts of my father mix with them and drown my paranoia in red rivers.

Bloody rivers.

I stand almost as quickly as I had sat and stalk out of the room. It is only half a surprise to me that nobody has followed, though whenever I turn my back, the footsteps can be heard, creeping up on me.

Soon there will be a knife accompanying them.

Nothing can get to me. I am iron, like the blade.

But inside, I am still a desperate, ugly creature some call 'human'.

* * *

My head aches again as we move down the floors, and I hear hushed murmurs at all sides. I'm sure it is the other tributes. I want nothing to do with them- any of them. Relationships will only allow pain to blossom, a sword through my back, then through my head. Vulnerability...that's all these alliances are. Something to be exploited and then turned, horribly turned, onto each other until there is naught but one standing.

I immediately assess my competition upon stepping into the room, boots echoing against the cold, hard cement floor. My eyes shift wildly. I can pick out the threats- the boys from Two and Four, both tributes for Six, the boy from Seven- although his crying at the reaping may prove him different- the girl from Eleven and, most surprisingly, the girl from Twelve. Her footsteps are shifty, that of a thief, and I can only pray that she never speaks to me. If she does, my hands may find her throat before they are supposed to.

I shift my weight from foot to foot, staring down at the ground as the trainer approaches. If I play like I'm not a threat, stay out of everyone's way and don't call forth unnecessary attention, then I shouldn't have anything to worry about. And the games are a free for all. I have plenty of time to take out my rage on the tributes rather than the dummies.

My eyes come to focus on the feet of one tribute as the trainer's words of 'wisdom' begin. They don't even reach my ears. I am almost fixed on those feet, clad in ugly black shoes, but it's what appears to still stick to the side of the left foot that catches my eye. A red, smeared fluid, now dried and old. My eyes travel upwards to fall on the gaze of District Two's Jupiter Cass.

He smiles at me, coldly, and I feel a rush of something- not fear, perhaps adrenaline- race up my spine as I smirk, meeting his stare evenly, without backing down. I shake my head once and he raises an eyebrow, curious and not quite sated, it seems. I return to my former position, head facing downwards as the trainer continues the rules of what we are and aren't allowed to do in the Training Center.

But that doesn't mean I can't think about it.

I have competition and weaklings surrounding me, but they are truly all competition. I could fall, but the same goes for them. I won't let them knock me down, won't let them kill me, won't let them take my crown or draw their blade over my neck, won't let them do anything until I become what my father has and massacre the lot of them. I won't be dead. Ever.

And for now, I will remember each of them. And kill them all.

* * *

_"Loneliness expresses the pain of being alone, but solitude expresses the glory in being alone."_


	11. Training Day One

_Training Day One. I have aspired to make this chapter much longer than the others. We will have eight POVs per training day, so no worries about tributes getting face time, they all will at some point or another. Alliances are preplanned, though you may put in a request if you'd like. As for now, let's get moving. Also, another note: if interested, please do submit to my other SYOT. I am lacking a lot of submissions still right now._

_Also, thank nevergone4ever for this fast update. her birthday was two days ago and I have been rushing to write this for her. :) Happy birthday, Sophia, baby._

* * *

**Training Day One: The Darkness That Precedes**

* * *

**Blaze Travis, District 5 Female**

I try and listen to the trainer finishing her speech, talking about glory and the future of Panem being reliant on the twenty-four of us that are here, but I can't seem to draw anything from it. It's almost downbeat, something that is completely fabricated by the Capitol trying to put up a front for their own insanity. Already I'm feeling distant, lost...perhaps even incapacitated in a sense. There's nothing I can do for myself here, nothing that will allow me to move forward in those games. Naught but one thing, the thing I have tried so hard to cover up for years, the thing that used to kill me...

Now it is my only hope. Ironic, isn't it, how things can change with the setting and rising of the sun? These people only see the face I let them see, my front profile, a singular perspective...much like the others here, I have something to hide. Something Edison knew very well. Something that, perhaps, Finch knows also.

Rage, desperation, pent up aggression threatening to blow through the sides of my body, so pressing that it's a shock the other tributes can't feel it themselves. I am nothing here, nothing but another corpse to throw in a body bag, nothing but a target to twenty three people, nothing but a _loser,_ for lack of a better word.

Nobody is ever akin to the singular perspective they throw forward. Everyone has a story; mine is more subtle than others, but my personality itself is able to shade that well. There are few who are able to break through steel walls, the walls I have built up around myself. It is not a surprise that I am underestimated, that I am seen as the lowest, the weakest, based on the simple blank reaction and furrowed brow I showed at the reaping. No strong body, no bravado or shows of insanity- low key, forgettable.

And that's what Edison calls our strength. We are forgettable. We can go under the radar. Yet at this point...I can't find if I would actually like to do that. Right now, I have this desire to let go of my rage, this desire to throw myself into the fray with slashes, stabs, punches and kicks. To kill.

When was it that my mind became so bent on the destruction of others? When was it that I found myself as a killer? Although I have never felt it before, certainly never reveled in it, I have something inside of me, something dark and morbid and warped...something that every human has, yet never shows.

Finch taps my arm briefly and I look up from the station I am currently sitting at, wrapping wire around a dagger in my hands. He raises an eyebrow, questioningly.

"Yes?" I ask, trying to accompany the word with a smile, though my lips are pursed too tightly.

He says nothing, sits next to me, taking the dagger from my hands, coiling the wire onto the handle.

"What are you doing that for?" I question. "Unless...throwing, you think?"

"You thought electrocution from the wound."

"The body is composed mostly of water. It would be disgusting and frightful, but it would work." I said, shrugging, glancing around the room, eyes peeled. "Did you need something, Finch?"

"I came to ask a favor."

"May I inquire as to what it is?" I reply in kind, though the normally quiet boy shakes his head slightly.

"I would like to be your ally."

"Mine?" I asked, surprise most likely evident in my tone. "What for?"

"You're stronger than people give you credit for...and Edison said we're parallel lines."

"Parallel..." I murmur. "To be in an alliance, one must be perpendicular, must they not?"

"I suppose..." he murmurs absentmindedly, handing the coiled dagger back to me. "May I ask your answer?"

"I..." I trailed off. "I would...very much like to be your ally, Finch. There's just one condition."

"Yes?"

"If we get into a situation...we fight."

* * *

**Seoras Rider, District 10 male**

I suppose, in retrospect, that trying to wield a scythe was not the best choice for someone from District Ten who has, most likely, seen nothing but canes and pitchforks as a possible weapon in his entire life.

And butter knives, we can't forget the butter knives...

But as I see it, nothing can be accomplished without trying. And nothing can be tried without confidence. And confidence may be the death of my in the near (or, perhaps, distant) future, but overall, confidence is by far the driving force behind strong tributes. Although I never would have chosen to be reaped, it really isn't too bad of an outcome. Back in Ten, Ashby and I would always take bets on the games, mostly with rocks (since, of course, District Ten holds few forms of actual payment), sometimes with tokens we'd find while working in the fields. He'd laugh and smile that imbecilic smile of his whenever I mentioned the reapings, protesting heavily that we would ever be the victims of the Games...

I prefer not to use the word "victim". It's so trivial, almost like you're already resigning yourself to a certain death. I prefer... "competitor", perhaps. I am a competitor in the games. And, though I know it's impossible, I should like not to be underestimated.

So, as I stumble around madly, trying to hold the most certainly capacious weapon in a straight field of vision, I prefer to glance around at my fellow tributes. This, of course, elicits the action of almost falling forward and landing on the ground in a most dreadful position; I should like to imagine what would happen if I accidentally impaled myself. For, you see, it is often fun to imagine the reactions of people to an unfortunate death, accidental deaths, of course, being amongst the top in shock factor. would anyone scream? I doubt it; after all, I'm just a tribute from Ten.

I find later a spear that proves much more useful for practice against the dummies, stabbing forward with a bit of footwork involved. Being lousy or gifted with weapons can make you appear as a lesser target to enemies; if you're terrible, everyone forgets about the clumsy kid who can't even hold a scythe up without doubling over. If you're quite talented, then the enemies peg you as a higher threat and will wait to take you on until later, as being shown with the spear. I resigned myself to being a loner early on, so it's very much a surprise when I am approached by the small group already starting to take form.

"You're Seoras, right? District Ten?" I turn at the voice, finding myself face-to-chest with the boy from Seven. Oak, if I remember; as per usual from a Seven tribute.

"The one and only," I reply, with a smile. "You two are Seven. Oak and Belladonna." I glance at the petite girl hiding behind the hulking, well-muscled figure of the boy. I give a slight wave. "May I ask whether it was my atrocious weapon skills or frightfully wonderous footwork that drew you over here?"

"Both, I guess?" He asks, scratching his head. "We're actually forming a group...me, Bella, Cable from Three so far...we were wondering if you'd care to join us?"

"I may be inclined to," I reply. "But you must give me some leeway as well; I tend to be rather...reckless, I would say."

"That's not a problem. You're talented. It would benefit us greatly if you were to accompany us, you know."

"You said there were three of you?"

"Perhaps four. We're also trying to convince the boy from Eleven."

"Aspen," I say, with a nod. "Well, more power to you for making yourself a group."

"So...is that a yes or a no?"

"...why not? It's a yes." I reply hastily, giving a crooked smile before waving them off.

Nothing ever comes from saying no, after all.

* * *

**Alexander Lepou, District 1 male**

It's become evident that Jupiter wants to lead the pack this year. I could have deduced that much even from the reapings. Wolfgang rivals him in skill, Athena in strategy, Blush in her attractive angle as to pull sponsors, and myself in amiable behavior. I would not have picked Jupiter to lead in the next fifty years, really. The only reason I would even glance at him for that position is due to his ruthless outlook on the other tributes...

But that also means that the pack will be lacking trust, and a pack without trust is one that will end quicker. He glares at me when I say that we should split up, scower the room for threats and divide our strategies, but nonetheless, he complies.

"Alex is right," he says, venom still in his tone. "It's better to put together a strategy now. Athena, will you be able to scan the room for threats that could compromise our unity?"

Athena sends him a sharp glare that rivals even mine as she says. "Of course I can." It's evident that something happened during the train rides that got to both of them, if the scalding look Jupiter gives her retreating figure indicates anything.

"What happened to your District partner?" He asks Wolfgang. Wolfgang simply shrugs in reply.

"She's a wild card. To be frank, I couldn't see any potential for her to ally with a pack; too mirthful, could result in our downfall."

"Then you'll have to do twice the work, I'd say."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps my work, being artistic and fluid as it is, should make up twice for the work of the rest of you as well. Skills remain to be seen, I must say. Indulge me, Jupiter, what is your weapon of preference?"

"A sword," the Two male answers without hesitation. "And yourself?"

"I prefer swords as well, though curved blades are more my fancy. Nothing with a serrated edge, in honesty. And certainly not small daggers or knives."

"I'd put a word in for daggers and knives," I say, raising my hand. Blush grabs my arm.

"Idiot," she whispers. "Do you want to paint a target on your chest too?"

"It's more like on my back," I reply. "Just saying."

"I'd suggest we scout for an ally to fill Michelle's spot," Wolfgang continues, "if it really means that much to you, Cass."

"That's actually not a bad idea, Shivelbush," Jupiter replies. "But who, may I ask, have you seen that would possibly fill the shoes of a Career?"

I can tell from Wolfgang's eyes that he has a strategy, an agenda different from our own. His mouth almost twitches upwards as he replies evenly, "The boys from Three or Nine. Such darkness would be welcomed in such a brutish sport, do you not agree, Jupiter?"

"That's the one thing you've said I actually agree with," he replies. "I saw the boy from Nine earlier...and there is something about him..."

"I would suggest you have Athena monitor him for a day," Wolfgang adds. "we need to see what skills would benefit us most after all."

I shrug, noting that Blush's hand is still on my arm. "We have a few days still," I interject, "the decision shouldn't be a difficult one."

"Perhaps not," Wolfgang replies, "but it is safe to say psychoanalyzing this room will not move us anywhere with pace. I would suggest cycling through as quickly as possible."

"I'll set up some time for plans at lunch," Athena says, having rejoined us. "It would be best to map out the alliances and threats, as well as peg some bloodbaths."

* * *

**Belladonna Crystal, District 7 female**

I find myself sitting on my knees besides the camouflage station, waiting for Oak to return from talking with the boy from Eleven, while Cable is next to me, chattering a mile a minute, as she has been most of the day. On many occasions, I would shout at her for being so loud, but today it is a welcome distraction.

"-and then I sort of jumped at that, you know? Of course, that teacher never liked me. He used to smack my desk with a ruler a lot- I guess you could say I sort of was a class clown at some points. And then the next day was reaping day, of course, but I never thought it would be possible...I'm kind of glad, though, I know that sounds really messed up, but I actually really appreciate that- hey, do you like him?" she asks, tapping my shoulder while my eyes are still trained on Oak's back. It takes me a few moments to process what she said. And then I startle.

"W-what?" I question.

"Your staring has been blatantly obvious, not to mention you've practically clung to him since you entered training today. It's okay if you do, I mean, I was just curious."

I do remember seeing him at points in the forest near my house; he worked with the lumberjacks that my father worked with, and I always admired him a bit, I guess, being so selfless, back when he used to protect those kids on the streets at reaping day. Oak was always doing things he didn't need to; unlike me, who only ever did what I wanted. Maybe I was just uncertain about what it would be like to be so careless about one's self; I've certainly never been that way.

"No, not at all." I say, because it's true, I've never once looked at him like that. "I admire him, though. I wish I could be like...that."

"Like what?" Cable asks, curiosity blatant in her tone.

"You know...not selfish and shit." I reply. "I've always been selfish, got into fights a lot...my mother called me a 'witch child'. I remember how often I used to wake them up at night..." I trail off, feeling the tears pooling in my eyes. "They...never kicked me out though. They always...always fucking loved me and I took it for granted. Nobody else would have put up with...with this, Cable." I pause, tear sliding down my cheek. "Cable, am I a bad person?"

"I think you're lovely, Bella," she answers, smiling.

"Fucking hell..." I say, wiping the tear off my face. "I didn't want this to happen here."

"Don't worry about it, kay?" she says, placing a hand on my shoulder.

Oak's returning now, the District Eleven kid following behind him. "You okay?" He asks, looking at me, and I nod.

"Fine." I answer. "Cable's been taking care of me." Cable chuckles at this.

"Of course I have. She's great."

"Isn't she?" He pauses. "This is Aspen. He'll be joining our alliance, as will Seoras, who is...I have no idea where he is, actually."

"Aspen and Oak, now we have two trees." Cable says, laughing.

"Hey, trees are awesome," Aspen cuts in, laughing. "It's inevitable naming, anyway. Who cares, though?"

"We're rivaling the Careers in size," I say. "Isn't that a problem?"

"It's more even if we're in a fight," Oak says.

"Better to have firepower in case somebody blows," Aspen adds. "After all, we'll be pretty big targets for the Careers- Oak and Seoras especially."

"Why's that?" Cable asks.

"My build, Seoras is good with a weapon- it paints a target. Still, for the time being, it's better to be surrounded by friends." Oak says. "He has a point."

"Either way, I'll kick their asses if they even think about coming near us." Aspen replies.

"I second that," I interject, trying to smile. "We honestly stand a pretty good chance in combat."

"But if anything happens, we split, okay?" Oak asks. "I'm not going to get everyone killed just because we're flocked together. Objections?"

"None." Cable responds.

* * *

**Lark Amaran, District 12 female**

I'm two faced. That's not usually something freely admitted, but I feel it applies most here, in the Games, as a valuable asset. A victor's asset, perhaps, though I really don't see myself making it to that point. I'm not one to take the spotlight and I honestly can't stand the sight of blood; it tears me, inwardly. In fact, I'm not really sure what side I should play here, in the Capitol, in the Games. So often I am the civilized, upper-class girl back in Twelve, a healthy ring of friends and a well rounded family, but here...what am I? Nobody expects anything from a Twelve tribute. I'll take a backseat to the more memorable ones, like the Careers, but right now, nothing can touch me. For these few moments, I am myself, and I am lost.

In actuality, everything up to this point from the second I got reaped have been an atrocity, and I've been quite eager to just get into it already...even if that means dying early. Relationships here are so contrived, and my district partner has practically killed me already; I can tell him by his footsteps, and they're almost always behind me. Surprisingly, as I stand in the line, waiting to get food, I hear nothing. Perhaps I have become paranoid, with my habits, but perhaps it is just repulsion that makes me so aware. Rocko seems...despicable.

I thank the Capitol cook with a grin as the hands me the food, walking away and searching for a lone table. This is not the time for allies, even though it is so tempting to draw them...I sit near the back of the room, distant from the Careers as possible. I don't want them to think I'm any more of a threat than I am. One of the girls- from Ten, I think- is sizing me up. She's shorter than me, but with blond hair and blue eyes as well. I quickly snap my head away as she smiles, turning to stare downward and absently pick at my food instead.

I can hear the chatter everywhere; two big groups so far, and then the two from Five grouped together as well. As fast as things seem to be moving, it would be dangerous for me to be a loner right now. Still, if I had to choose...I'm fast enough and sturdy enough to get what I want. It's not in my nature to be easily swayed, though I do try to conform when possible...

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, straightening out my back as I continue to stare downwards. My head aches just slightly. Perhaps it is from all the chatter in this room, loud and disquieting. Very uncomfortable for me, despite being used to the chatter back in Twelve. But these people are unfamiliar, and I have no care for them- least of all Rocko. Despite being from home, he's the exact type of person I wouldn't be caught dead with. Not because he's unattractive- he's very attractive- but I simply have no desire to play whatever game he's trying to drag me into. I'm not one to be forced down by other people.

An alliance would force me down. Perhaps it would even humiliate me.

My eyes flit to my feet. I know, if I wanted to, I could run from everything, from all the problems in the world, yet something here is so...enticing, perhaps. I feel almost relieved that I am away from Twelve, away from my problems and my past. Here, nobody expects anything of me. If I want to let forward my darker side, then it's an open possibility for me. I have no reason to conform now. I have no reason to stay hidden.

So why am I?

* * *

**Bug Lumen, District 3 male**

I don't know why I'm sitting here with him. It's not like either of us stood out, not like either of us hold a purpose, not like I'm going to live.

All it happens to be is a relationship strived from the desire to kill. Kill anyone. I already know what Jek's playing at, and, despite my disdain for most people in general, I'm not afraid to play the game with him. It wouldn't have been my first choice, of course; I'm not a pacifist, but I simply don't feel there's a purpose to anything.

Jek, on the other hand, seems to be concerned only about his father, murmuring quietly about how they've "taken him away" again. He's scared, in actuality, and I can tell that, the way he shakes, jitters, turns his head over his shoulder constantly, as if he's expecting to be attacked. On the streets in Three, the behavior isn't uncommon. The lower inhabitants, the ones nobody wants- runaways, drug addicts, prostitutes, murderers, abusers, masochists- I've seen them all, and it's not a good picture. In some way, I do feel curious about Jek's background, but it subsides easily- there's no purpose in caring, anyway. No purpose in being here or even living. The human race lives to destroy itself; in five days, I will be a part of that.

The Careers chatter amongst themselves, glancing in our direction every now and then. They assume we're allied; that isn't the case. It's difficult, really.

I've seen others glance at us too, then pass their eyes over us rapidly- we're no threat to them, supposedly. We're no threat to anyone.

I shake my own head, standing to throw away the trash from my only partially eaten lunch. The Capitol's food is so decadent; too decadent, really, it's almost unfathomable. Being from the dirt section of Three, I'm not used to any of what they're accustomed to here; unlike One and Two, who seem to be right at home.

I think of the old days, going to the rich sectors to graffiti houses with Moe. It was almost fun, now that I recall. But the time for that has long since passed. Now, in the games, I won't be having 'fun'. I'll be killing and fighting for the glory, for recognition- nothing else.

The Careers have trained; most of them use swords, one uses smaller weapons, and one uses a spear. The boys already seem to be throwing off testosterone; the pack won't be lasting long, if that's how it's going to be. The other large alliance- Cable, the two from Seven, and the boys from Ten and Eleven, seem to be much more coherent as a group, and I could see the alliance holding together firmly; but none of them are very strong. It will crumble.

Five is a threat this year, no doubt, despite the fact that they've been going under the radar this whole time. The girl, predicted to have the lowest odds, is much different than she lets on. I can see it in her eyes. She's desperate, frenzied- despite her structure and her smiles for the camera, she'll snap. And the boy as well, if the signs that he's only recently been talking again are any indication.

That leaves...who? The girl from Four, both from Six, both from Eight, Jek's district partner, the girls from Ten and Eleven, and both from Twelve; though it seems the Twelve boy is now flirting with the Ten girl...successfully.

I lean back in the seat slightly, waiting for the trainers to call us in again. The competition this year is risible; there are the usual threats and the usual bloodbaths. The only question is where I fall on the spectrum myself.

* * *

**Alice Dencin, District 8 female**

I feel so awkward and out of place here; almost like everything and nothing are happening all at once. I've been sitting on the climbing net for a good half hour now, being quiet and serene. Nobody seems to have noticed me. The trainer says nothing about me moving down; it's evident he detests this job as much as the tributes do.

I have a full on view of the gamemakers' window, seeing them glancing out, staring at the tributes amidst the swarm. Waiting to see our skills. Waiting to place bets. It's too much to hope for that I stand out in any way to sponsors, too much to hope for that anyone would place a bet on me. I miss my grandmother more than ever; my mind feels empty, despite having slept the night before training. I almost want to throw up. I shake my head a couple of times to clear away the muddled thoughts, all the questions, some arduous and some less so, popping up every few seconds. They stick even when I want them to go.

I'm not dumb enough to say that I'm going to make it out of that arena. I know there's almost no chance of that. If anyone has a chance at all, it's Eidolan. Nobody has seen him yet, nobody has noticed, except for me, seeing him perched on the ledge above the camouflage station, staring over at the weaponry with a furrowed brow. I almost wonder how he got up there, but knowing Eidolan, it's impossible to say.

He sees me too, flashes forth a nod that I have no trouble responding to. Invisible, both of us, just like it should be.

If I had an ally, would my chances of survival increase? I'm certain now that it's a no; they're too preoccupied, too dependent on one another to comprehend the reality of their situation.

I can hardly comprehend it either, though, I suppose. It's not a care to me, no matter, no mind. And as they say, out of sight, out of mind- if I stay hidden, they won't remember me. Average training score, average interview, adequate hiding skills- if I could make it a few days, just a few, then I would be safe. I could have a chance.

But I don't dare to get my hopes up.

I shake my head again to clear it, but as usual, it doesn't work.

It never works.

And with fading memories, a cracking heart and a muddled brain, I won't last a minute. I won't be a threat at all. No matter the strategy, no matter the plans or ideas, or the sponsors or memorability, I'm just another coffin to be sent home. Just another body to bury.

* * *

**Olivia Wood, District 10 female**

It's been a day passed with absolutely nothing to show for it. And I'm a bit upset, alright? Just a bit. I mean, it was too much to get my hopes up on alliances, but even Seoras has one, which shouldn't have been possible.

We return to our level of the tributes dorms in disheveled appearance, messed up clothes and hair, and I'm not even surprised at how it happened. Our mentor seems to have disappeared again, maybe to place bets, who knows? Knowing him, it's a very likely possibility, and I know that I'm not the one they'll be betting on. It would be too much to hope for. I wonder if it would be better if I just disappeared.

The dorm itself is in disarray, particularly the main room, chairs knocked over, papers scattered everywhere, and yet, nobody can figure out why.

"Looks like somebody got angry," I say.

"Mentor or escort?" Seoras asks with a grin.

"Probably both from the looks of things." I sit down in one of the still-standing chairs, tossing back my hair. "Long day."

"No kidding," he replies, straightening another chair. I laugh as the leg bends beneath him and he falls to the floor, cracked chair under him.

"You must be heavier than you look. A little cardio wouldn't kill you."

"Not funny, Olivia," he replies, standing, rubbing his back. "Man, I can't wait to be in that arena."

There's a sudden chill in the room as he mouths those words. "Why do you say that?" I ask, swallowing.

"The thrill, of course," he replies, smiling. "There's a certain rush you get from things...things like...fear, perhaps? Yes, fear." A pause. "If somebody told me a few days ago I was going to die, I would have smiled and said of course. I wonder if it's the same now? Am I still excited at the thought of being killed?" He turns, looking at me. "Does it scare you, Olivia?"

"No," I say, throat dry. "Of c-course not."

"Good." he says, and leaves it at that. "Now, if you don't mind, I think I'll go lie down for a bit. Best to sleep as much as possible before the eternity."

* * *

**There we go, training day one, done. POVs- Blaze, Seoras, Alexander, Belladonna, Lark, Bug, Alice and Olivia.**

_**Which POV was your favorite?**_

_**Which characters do you want to see next?**_

_**Any alliances you are interested in?**_

**Confirmed alliances are the Careers (Alex, Blush, Jupiter, Athena, Wolfgang), the other large alliance (Cable, Oak, Belladonna, Seoras, Aspen) and the Five tributes (Blaze, Finch). I will continue adding to this list and post all the confirmed alliances and confirmed loners on a list before the games.**


	12. Author's Note

_Hi, sorry this isn't the chapter you expected._

_I just wanted to clarify that this story is still a project I am working on, and yes, **it will be finished**, I swear it will. Unfortunately, at the present moment, school/college is taking an enormous toll on me, not to mention that I have a job as well, along with all the drama I've been through with my family and friends; tragedy is certainly striking this time of year._

_I'm basically overworked and exhausted right now- wrung out, at the end of my rope, yeah, you get it. I've been lacking free time and motivation, but I will be posting the next chapter when it is finished. I am already two POVs into Training Day 2. Six more and you'll have it._

_I hope you can empathize with my situation. For those of you bearing with me right now, thank you, I appreciate your dedication. I write for you, and will continue to write until this story is finished. Will update when I get a chance._

_Yours,_

_Minho_


	13. Update

_You all knew it was coming. I can't say how sorry I am for this. Life has gotten in the way, I found myself preferring the more detailed and complex characters I got for Silver Ashes and the much more simplistic form that it's written in. Then I lost my notebook for this, my fibromyalgia resurfaced and I found myself utterly unable to continue this. However, I'm not the type of person to leave you hanging without closure. Here is the rest of the story in as detailed a summary as I can bring myself to type._

* * *

**Training**

Alliances were formed that would be the end of many tributes. Loners were vengeful. The Careers experienced their own inward tension. The large alliance found them with a huge target painted dead center on their backs as the clock counted down. Scores came, some expected and others incredibly innocuous without anything noteworthy about them. When the tributes began to fight amongst themselves before the games had even started it was inevitable what the arena would bring. Michelle found herself at the throat of her district partner, angered- no, enraged- with the fact he'd so casually pushed her aside.

Jupiter and Athena walked carefully around each other, and he found himself drawn into a rivalry with Wolfgang...but who won, the same or the insane?

Bug and Jek were in an uncanny almost-alliance where they were eager to face death as quickly as possible.

Belladonna found her feelings of admiration for Oak increasing...was this love? But it would only get her killed, wouldn't it?

Finch and Blaze tried to prepare themselves for the inevitable betrayal they had to use in order to beat each other.

Nisse found an ally in Delta from Eleven, the two being candid and obscene in nature, bettering their plans to strike out the competition.

Aspen found himself grieving for his family at home, and what would happen when he inevitably kicked the bucket.

Rocko manipulated Olivia into his trap with a few words and a smile, only for Lark to be standing at the other end of the room with a rope in hand.

Ford was gruesomely obsessive over his death, making a list of every single way he could die- and every way he could kill.

Eidolan felt trapped within his own involvement with his past mistakes, the soldier-like mentality he'd had as a child never having left him. He began to realize that if he ever wanted to repay Surah he was going to have to become the ghost again.

Luna and Alise fell on each other when their district partners abandoned them, waiting in silence for the time the gong would ring.

The Ones fell into an easy camaraderie around each other, but they knew it wouldn't last. And Blush knew that she'd be the survivor if it ever came to it.

Seoras began to question just how much his reckless nature would benefit him in the arena...would it be the thing that caused his cannon to fire?

The Alliances

**D1 Blush Demontford, D1 Alexander Lepou, D2 Athena Slater, D2 Jupiter Cass, D4 Wolfgang Shivelbush**

** D3 Cable Barric, D7 Oak Kutter, D7 Belladonna Crystal, D10 Seoras Rider, D11 Aspen Carsten**

**D3 Bug Lumen, D9 Jek Therrin**

**D5 Blaze Travis, D5 Finch Calin**

**D6 Nisse Harvey, D11 Delta Thorne**

**D8 Alise Dencin, D9 Luna Winters**

**D10 Olivia Wood, D12 Rocko Warner**

**D4 Elle Dolohov**

**D6 Ford Cooper**

**D8 Eidolan Nejem**

**D12 Lark Amaran**

* * *

**The Bloodbath**

The tributes weren't prepared save the Careers. In actuality, none of them were even close to expecting what their arena would hold in terms of horrors. The deadliest beauties, sickness and decaying flesh...

It was a hospital. Tributes began to murmur as the countdown began. They looked at each other. Who was their killer? Who was their prey?

**ARENA LAYOUT**

**-Elevator 1 has access to floors B, 1, 2, 4**

**-Elevator 2 has access to floors 1, 2, 3, 4**

**_1st/main floor_**

-Emergency room

-Registration

-Gift shop

-Cafeteria

**_2nd floor_**

-Cardiac ward

-Renal ward

**_3rd floor_**

-Mental ward

-Secure/isolated units

**_4th floor_**

-Rehabilitation ward

-Doctors' offices

**_Basement (B)_**

-Morgue

-Supply rooms

-Security office

The elevators sprung to life with a ping and the first cannon sounded from within the waiting room.

**24th: Cable Barric, District 3: **The girl was antsy, just as she always had been. She rocked back and forth on her feet, nervousness shown with her ADHD. One foot came up just a little too high and she was blown to pieces before the plates had a chance to be deactivated. She never saw the look of horror on Bella's face, never realized just what she was going to lose. At least, her parents thought, it had been quick.

**23rd: Luna Winters, District 9: **She wasn't used to the lights, the bright glare that was currently aimed right at her face. She let loose a little scream, the last thing she would ever do. Before she knew what was happening, Jek was on her, and he quickly turned her neck to the side, watching her fall lifeless at his feet. Now he knew that the feeling...was just as good as he'd imagined. But Luna would never have to know. She would never have to kill or fight...or breathe.

**22nd: Bug Lumen, District 3: **Well he hadn't been expecting it. He never had. But then again, why would he have? He was a nihilist, he was unfazed by everything this world had to offer...that's what he remembered when he found himself at the other end of Jek's rage. The games were only beginning. Bug grabbed the first thing he saw; a fire extinguisher on the wall. But by that time, Jek was already on him. And, well, a pike was clearly the better weapon.

**21st: Oak Kutter, District 7: **He had to keep her safe. Although only a few days, Oak had already begun to care for Belladonna. She was more than a District partner to him, she was his shot at helping someone, the only thing he'd ever been good at. And he knew it. He grabbed her hand and they started to run. They had plans to meet with everyone, but poor Bella was still shellshocked from watching the girl from Three die. And so when Athena rushed them, spear already in her hands, Oak did the first thing he thought of, the thing that he'd always been doing. He stepped in front of Bella. And then saw white.

**20th: Belladonna Crystal, District 7: **She was so tired of it, tired of doing nothing but hurt the people around her. And she knew that her compassion for Oak, her admiration for him was going to be what killed her. But she knew she had been right, for the first time in her life. He was the kind of person that she could trust. Why was it that she'd only found that in the games? She stared down at his unmoving body. _"I never meant to hurt you." _And then Jupiter's sword went through her back.

**19th: Alise Dencin, District 8: **She knew she never had a chance, didn't she? Not in the least bit memorable, with only her incompetent mother and elderly grandmother to grieve for her. She held her hands to her chest and cried. Oh, how she cried. Some people draw the short end of the stick as soon as they enter the world, and unfortunately for Alise, she had been one of those people. But she also knew something. District Eight _would_ have a victor this year. Then Alexander's sword ran straight through her throat and she choked.

**18th: Olivia Wood, District 10: **Well, somewhere in Olivia's mind she'd always known that Rocko Warner was too good to be true. He was attractive, very much so, the type of guy she wouldn't have garnered attention from back in Ten. She had foolishly let herself believe that he liked her...when in all actuality she knew that barely anyone ever had. She thought of her friends when he did it, closed her eyes tightly and remembered home.

**17th: Alexander Lepou, District 1: **Alexander had always been the one to figure things out quickly; that's what had made him such a good Career. And he knew from the first minute he saw Jupiter that he was going to be stabbed right in the back between his shoulderblades. His sword was no match for that of Jupiter's, not the one of a trained killer. Blush sat beside him when he breathed out his last breath. _"I really was more stunning, in the end, now wasn't I, sweetheart?"_

**16th: Rocko Warner, District 12: **Rocko should've been more careful, more wary about the biggest threat to him. Lark knew what he was; seeing him kill Olivia, the girl he had supposedly cared for, only proved it. He was a womanizer...well, how ironic that the girl had finally caught him? She took him by surprise, a quick knife to his chest and the backpack out of his hands. The girl ran off, stunned. Rocko died even more stunned.

* * *

**Day One**

The Careers had just regrouped after the bloodbath, everyone in shock over Alex's death, save Jupiter with his smug little grin, subtle enough that the only one to see it was Wolfgang. Athena was sorting through the supplies, Blush primping herself for the Capitol in efforts to keep herself from thinking of her District partner.

Blaze and Finch had been wandering for too long; it had been a long night with little rest. They hid out in an old storage supply closet in the basement, slammed the door shut behind them and covered it from the inside.

Jek had a weapon. He had the forming of a plan. All he needed was shelter, and he found some inside a room in the cardiac ward on the second floor. Not as good as a supply closet, but a perfect place to lie in wait.

Seoras and Aspen were separated and wandering the halls alone. Every place seemed to be a trick of the eye; was there even one safe room within the entire hospital? They'd find out sooner than later.

Elle had managed to stock up with some food from the cafeteria- too bad there was someone else watching her.

**15th: Michelle "Elle" Dolohov, District 4: **They were loud, but so was she. Despite her fear, Elle taunted her district partner blatantly, mocked the Careers- and that was something Jupiter just couldn't have. Wolfgang slid out his rapier. Elle stood her ground, ready to fire back an insult at any given moment. She slung her new knapsack over her shoulder and aimed to run. But Wolfgang was faster, trained even. She didn't manage to make it more than a few steps before the rapier pierced her heart.

_"I'm sorry, Elle, but in the Games, it's every man for themselves. You were blind. It's for the best if we take care of this now."_

_"Save it, Wolfgang."_

* * *

**Day Two**

Taken with Elle's death and a restful night of sleep, the Careers were more than happy to be on the move again. They left Blush to guard the supplies before moving off, taking the elevator up to the third floor.

Blaze and Finch had barely made it through the night; there was something out there, something very very deadly.

Nisse and Delta had made themselves a perch in the basement, high enough that nobody would see them easily. In one of the storage closets and with a pack snagged from the bloodbath, the girls were in for a pretty good day, unlike a few other unfortunate souls.

Seoras had been the first to find them, hidden in the depths of the basement. It was a morgue, a room that had scared much more hardened souls than his own.

**14th: Seoras Rider, District 10: **Before he knew it he'd been grabbed, pulled into the darkened room where the fumes from the crematorium still hit his nose. He fought back, but he was all but blind. The room was pitch, Seoras a rather lanky and small form in comparison to the large man now holding him. There was a mask on the face...was that a mortician? Never mind the fact he was in death's chokehold, the boy burst out laughing. What a way to go! The irony that the very same figure for preparing the dead was making them? When he realized the situation, he bit the arm of the mutt, hard, but not before his machete cracked down. The body would be discovered charred, only ashes as remains.

And with the arrival of a cannon, Aspen Carsten was startled. He wondered if it was the ally he'd been trying to regroup with- or if the careers were on the move. But no, he thought. _I'm not dealin' with that shit. _And so he stood, propping himself against the wall with a brief look done at the leg that had been wounded when a door had broken off it's hinges.

And then came the chatter.

**13th: Aspen Carsten, District 11: **He was blindsided and with a leg injury, never the less, he resisted. It took two of them to wrestle him down, but his well aimed blow to Athena's chest sent her scuttering backwards. He ran. Down the hallway, unnerved by the jeers behind him. He slammed the door of the isolation room shut, but the door, like the last one, flew inward regardless. Jupiter slammed it shut behind him, marching over as Aspen fell backwards onto the cold, metal gurney, staring up at the ceiling and remembering the days where he'd been so casual about his words. If he wanted to go, he wasn't holding his mouth shut. He spit, right in Jupiter's face. The older boy forced his head back.

_"Well here we go. Looks as if I'm your new roommate." Jupiter aimed a look back at the closed door. _

_"Pretty shitty to have a narcissist as a roommate," came the response._

_"Narcissist? Come on, kid, we both know. I'm a victor and you are simply a bloody casualty."_

_"You'll never-"_

The day ended with the boom of a cannon, same way as it had started.

* * *

**Day Three**

Nisse and Delta were rudely awakened by the noise of someone rummaging through their supplies before the lights had even been rekindled.

**12th: Lark Amaran, District 12: **Lark's head shot up to find the girl from Six staring at her. Her instincts as a thief were telling her to flee, but Lark had never truly been that kind of girl. She stared evenly at Nisse before shaking her head and pulling the newly looted supplies over her the second her back was turned, Nisse had jumped onto her shoulders, throwing her to the floor and her head hit with a sharp crack. She looked up, and then around. Nisse had a needle. Lark had...nothing.

_"You wouldn't kill me. You're just a pathetic, sniveling little girl, Six."_

_"Wanna bet, bitch?"_

* * *

**Day Four**

Blaze and Finch had been waiting scared since the first night, huddled in the storage closet with the extra bedsheets pulled to their chests. They would have to open the door eventually...and neither of them were looking forward to that moment.

Nisse and Delta had their supplies back, and were now keeping a heavy watch over them. Delta seemed surprised that Nisse had killed, especially that she'd killed so easily- she was only fourteen! Delta began to wonder if her chances were better alone...the last thing she wanted was a betrayal.

The Careers had slept peacefully. Nothing seemed eventful. Everything was going as planned, but they'd have to split soon. Athena was left with the supplies, not expecting anyone to be so blatant as to attack directly.

And then he came.

**11th: Ford Cooper, District 6: **Ford quickly subdued Athena with a blitz attack from a crate near her head. He brough his dagger down, ready to plunge it through her chest, but Athena's hand found it's way to his face and she pushed. Ford bit. She shielded herself, feeling the dagger enter her arm and using it to pull him closer. He spat at her, mumbling nonsense. He knew every ploy, every rule that had made a tribute a victor...but Ford was still too opportunistic. And Athena managed to get her sword through his chest...right when his knife entered hers.

**10th: Athena Slater, District 2: **She thought of home, of her brother Styx, of his wife and daughter. She thought of the victor her father had always wanted her to be...and Athena realized. She realized that she was never meant to be a victor. She realized that she wouldn't even be remembered. And a tear, for the first time in years, escaped her eye. She blinked rapidly, and then she pulled Ford's dagger from her chest, shoving his body away from her with only a few mumbled words to him as she breathed her last breath.

_"You are so like me," Athena said, placing her hand against the skin of Ford's shoulder. "So similar yet so different. Neither of us were meant to be victors. I signed up for my death. You were just a circumstance."_

* * *

**Day Five**

Eidolan resurfaced after escaping the gamemakers' radar for the first four days. How he possibly managed to do it astounded them- he had silently cut the camera cords, built his own shelter in the filing room in the renal ward. He knew Jek was with him, despite never checking, but Eidolan was confident, practiced- Jek was another casualty. This was a war. But he wouldn't strike yet...not yet.

Nisse and Delta left the basement. Something sinister was lurking there, something neither of them had any interest in encountering. They spoke of their lives back in Six and Eleven, of families lost and families hated...and of times past that were good and times passed that were painful. Nisse told her about her best friends; Delta told the younger girl about her father. But one of them would have to die soon...and they couldn't kill each other now, surely? So during the night, Nisse took half the supplies and quietly slipped away. She was loyal...and she couldn't kill Delta.

But somebody could.

**9th: Delta Thorne, District 11: **At the very time between night and morning, Delta found herself lying awake. She knew that Nisse had left...what she didn't know was that someone was waiting there with her in the darkness of the patient room. Before she had a chance to shout, he was on her, and as the cloth was dragged across her face, she found herself fading to black, she remembered her father...the way he'd killed those people, the way he'd lost his shit. At least that wouldn't happen to her. All this time she'd been an outcast in Eleven, just because of her father, just because her skin was a few shades lighter than those other children...she looked into the face of her attacker and thanked him for the fact that he made it quick.

Wolfgang looked up. Killing should not feel so easy...but he had been perfectly groomed for it since he was a child, destined to volunteer. He was born and raised as a killer. Perhaps it was supposed to be easy.

* * *

**Day Six**

They unbolted the door. Finch and Blaze had been expecting something, but not this...not this silence, this unending, vast silence.

And then the lights went out and the mutts struck. They were twisted, grotesque corpses in all different forms, and they were so lifelike. So human...so sickening. Finch ran, but Blaze fell. The mutts dragged her under their swarm, pulled her into the morgue.

**8th: Blaze Travis, District 5: **She had fought to keep herself controlled, and now she was fighting for her life. And it hurt. Everything hurt. After awhile she realized what they were doing...what they had done. Missing her legs from the knees down, being torn to pieces in a frenzy of blood-lusting mutts, she made her choice. She remembered the parallel lines she'd thought of, how they related to her and Blaze...and Edison. And Five. And so Blaze took the cyanide capsule from her pocket, raised it to her mouth. _Of all the ways it could have ended, _she thought. And then she swallowed.

**7th: Finch Calin, District 5: **Finch barely made it from the basement when his head was smashed into a glass door. It was that quick. It took seconds, and Jupiter seemed to have no qualms about smearing the little boy's blood all over his hands. The body lay limp at his feet, but there was somebody watching. Just like there had been the first time.

Eidolan kept himself prepared. After two cannons fired, he knew he would be next if he were to stay in one place any longer. He took his weapon and set out.

* * *

**Day Seven**

Blush escaped narrowly from the ensuing fight at the Career camp. She took what she needed- a sword. Granted, she'd never used one before, but if it was anything like she'd used her body, it shouldn't be a problem at all to make do with it. She left a note on the ground. _Have fun boys._

**6th: Jupiter Cass, District 2: **Jupiter always knew. Oh, how he knew. Wolfgang was the largest threat to him. He'd thought he could play Blush against him, but by that time she'd vanished. When he looked at Wolfgang, rapier out and ready to strike, the duel began. Insane versus sane. Well, insane loses every time in that field. Wolfgang managed to disarm him, quite literally. After Jupiter watched his wrist break, he thrashed, kicking out, but it was too late. Wolfgang was the better fighter. And Jupiter's chest had a rapier protruding from it.

_"You are dishonorable."_

_"Why, because of what I've done? Look at you, Wolfgang, you've spent your entire life training for the games. To what avail? To become a murderer? You are exactly like me. Like me!" Jupiter shouted, shaking the other boy's shoulders with his remaining hand._

_"I am nothing like you. You are a brute. I am fallen in my own way, but at least the manner is one of grace. Grace descending onto the bloodied forms of those who have painted my hands red."_

_"You are nothing. You have nothing. You are dead inside. A robot, perfectly groomed for murder."_

_"Maybe I am dead. Yet right now, I don't see how that's a problem."_

The Careers were dead. The tributes were scattered. And now... it was anyone's game. Would it be the prostitute, Blush, with her charm and cunning? Would it be Wolfgang, so perfectly mannered that arrogance never seemed truly arrogant? Would it be Nisse, who albeit her age, was strong and fought for what she believed in? Would it be the volunteer Eidolan, whose childhood had groomed him to be a perfectly cold killer? Would it be the psychotic Jek, his father and role model a raging schizophrenic?

* * *

**Day Eight**

He had been planning it. And now that Jek was only feet away from him, Eidolan seized his opportunity. He jammed the syringe into the other boy's neck, right when Jek's arm latched onto his throat. But Jek was fading, and he was fading fast.

**5th: Jek Therrin, District 9: **He had always loved his father. He had always admired him. Everyone had always called him crazy, but Jek never thought he was crazy. Nobody was truly crazy. And he had known the boy was there...hadn't he? No, he would never have gone blindsided...but he had. And he grieved. And he passed into the ranks of fallen tributes slowly from the ketamine running through his system, freezing everything.

Eidolan moved and he moved quickly. There were only a few of them left and he needed to make an impression. But what impression was there to make? Best he become a ghost again, silent and inconspicuous. He took his leave, and went down to meet his enemies.

Meanwhile, Blush had quickly come across another tribute. She had been the only one in the Career pack not to make a kill...and she wasn't going to screw up on it now. She had to take the opportunity...in the morning, that was.

* * *

**Day Nine**

Blush awoke ready to fight. Nisse awoke ready for anything. Nisse had always been ready for anything; ever since she'd started living on the streets. And Blush was an opportunist. She was willing to break anything in her way of becoming a victor. And she chased Nisse, the younger girl throwing obscenities back in her direction as she ran. Slut! Whore! Strumpet! She wasn't expecting to fall on the trip wire that Eidolan had cautiously sat out the night before in case someone tried to attack him in his sleep.

**4th: Nisse Harvey, District 6: **Blush grabbed her hair, dragging her back into the hallways and over to the therapy room. She pulled back the cover of the hydrobath. Nisse thrashed about, knowing what was coming, but Blush shoved her head under, just like her stepmother used to. She pulled her up, shoved her under again. Nisse choked and spluttered. And Blush only laughed.

_"Upbringing, darling, that's all there is to it. You may be Cinderella, but me, I am no princess. I am a witch, dark and powerful, razing the people around me to the ground. I am a whore, but that no longer bothers me. Jeers, taunting…you'll never get me with that. Try harder, sweetheart. If it's good, maybe I won't kill you." Blush smiled, turning to give a wink to the camera before she pulled the girl's head back by her hair._

_"I hope..." Nisse coughed. "I h-hope someone puts a scalpel in your n-neck! Maybe they'll slice off the skin and mess up that frustratingly pretty face that you seem to flaunt!"_

_"Doesn't that just make my heart flutter? Nisse, darling, really. We all knew that you would die. But me, it's not my turn yet."_

* * *

**Day Ten**

The boy from Four woke the next day to the sounds of growling. He stumbled to his feet, rapier held defensively, when the first mutt pounced. This one wore glasses. It help a scalpel in its hand, a mask on its face. And it...no, she smiled. He stabbed, but her partner was faster. The two dragged the boy to the floor. Wolfgang fought bravely but the incisions were too much. He'd had surgery...very crude surgery.

**3rd: Wolfgang Shivelbush, District 4: **His chest was flayed, body torn asunder by the mutts just as the girl from his district last year. He could feel it, but he couldn't move. It burned...the pain was searing, building up inside, but he didn't have the strength to scream. Luckily, he wasn't alone. Eidolan stood by his side, knife clutched in one of his frail hands. Eidolan's never been a fan of suffering. Maybe there was a point where he had wanted it...now he wouldn't even wish it on a Career.

_"I never…thought that I… would die like this. Euthanized…where is the honor in that?"_

_"The honor is the fact that you have put your life into my hands. It's selfless, something nobody ever would have expected."_

_"Ferris would be proud." Wolfgang coughed. "And perhaps I…can also…be proud."_

_"Rest," Eidolan said._

Another cannon sounded, leaving two contestants to vy for the crown. And when they met...the clash would be deadly.

* * *

**Day Eleven**

It ended where it had all began- the cornucopia. Eidolan was returning from the basement, Blush making her way down from the mental ward. There was a single weapon left in the room- right on the edge of the cornucopia. Blush wanted it. Eidolan wanted it.

She sprung first, but Eidolan was quick to catch her. He shoved her back toward the wall, but a blow from Blush's elbow hit his head and they fell- right into the empty shaft of an elevator. The doors clicked. And then they were open again. Blush could stand. Eidolan couldn't. He pulled himself back on his arms, lying against the wall and aiming his foot into her stomach. He wouldn't give up. Neither would she. She grasped the handle of the door behind her and fell in, Eidolan now on top of her. He grabbed for a scalpel off one of the shelves, but Blush grabbed something else, and flung it right into his face.

Acid.

Eidolan began to go blind, but not before he caught a glimpse of Blush's hands rotting away to the bone. She was screaming. Maybe he was too.

**2nd: Blush DeMontford, District 1: **Blush's life had never been idyllic. She'd always been mocked, ridiculed based from the simple fact that she was a prostitute. But she was talented. Clever. And she had all the drive of a victor. But she just...wasn't that type. There has always been something about blush that wasn't harsh, wasn't callous. At the end of the day, she was just another a kid. The same way the other twenty-three had.

**Victor: Eidolan Nejem, District 8**

Sometimes people make themselves. Eidolan's past shaped him. He was a child soldier, one who was taken in off the streets by a stranger. And through that he learned what it meant to care for someone other than himself. He knew the right balance between self and others. That's what made him stronger. That's what made him a victor.

* * *

_And there you have it. Paranoid Sylph, I found it wise to crown Eidolan because of his resilience and his character flaws. He was my choice for victor since I received him. Anti-heroes with heroic quality buried in them...well, isn't that something?_

_Thank you to all for your tributes. Thank you for your time._


End file.
